Mercedes & Sam's Epic Night Out
by Lady Evelia
Summary: They call it the epic night, where a girl and a guy meet by colossal accident thanks to a missing rock star sex kitten and an indie band's secret show. This is the epic tale of Mercedes and Sam as they spend one crazy night together filled with music, wannabe hipsters, a mysterious stalker, and possibly love. Loosely based on Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist. An AU Fanfic.
1. Chapter 1

Hey avid Samcedes shippers! I'm not a newbie when it comes to Fanfiction. However, I'm a newcomer in the Samcedes fandom. I'm usually into Big Time Rush but I've decided to dabble into Glee. My Big Time Rush story is on hiatus and I've decided to release my first ever Glee Fanfiction story. I've also decided to write a story less intense and emotionally draining than my first Fanfiction story. Well, I sincerely hope that this story does well and that you guys take a liking towards it. The chapters in this story are fairly short and concise. Don't forget to read and review! Here goes nothing.

**TITLE:** Mercedes + Sam's Epic Night Out

**PAIRINGS:** Samcedes, Finnchel, Fabravans, and slight Klaine

**SUMMARY:** They call it the epic night, where a girl and a guy meet by colossal accident thanks to a missing rock star sex kitten and an indie band's secret show. This is the epic tale of Mercedes and Sam as they spend one crazy night together filled with music, wannabe hipsters, a mysterious stalker, and possibly love. Loosely based on Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist.

**DISCLAIMER:** Glee is owned by FOX.

**RATING:** Rated M for very strong language, underage drinking, teen angst, illegal drug use, and sexual themes and innuendos. For mature audiences only!

* * *

One 

The Morningside Inn

235 West 107th Street

Upper West Side

* * *

With a triumphant sigh, Mercedes Jones finally closed her purple suitcase, which was bulging and over packed from the ridiculous amount of clothes and souvenirs. Everything was finally packed, her ten pairs of shoes, her collection of Ralph Lauren polos in every color, and even the large brown bag of fashion jewelry that she bought from a street vendor in Times Square.

With a nostalgic grin, Mercedes stared out the large window right beside her bed. As always, the view was breathtaking. It overlooked the northern tip of Central Park. Dusk was long gone and New York's darkness was lit by the yellow glow of street lights. There were still dozens of cars and those iconic yellow taxi cabs zipping down Broadway, while throngs people walked in all directions like hundreds of mini ants.

After three years, the Christmas vacation trip to New York had finally come to pass. Since freshman year, Mr. Shuester, the Glee Club advisor, promised the members of Glee Club a Christmas vacation trip to New York before they graduated. Of course, it had taken much longer than anyone anticipated. There were budget cuts and absolutely no revenue coming in from Glee Club's failed attempts at fundraising money. Apparently, no one wanted to pay ten dollars for lame Valentine's singing telegrams.

It wasn't until senior year that Glee Club would be finally going to New York for the Christmas holiday. It had turned out to be the best week and a half of Mercedes's whole high school career. In nine short hours, Mercedes and the rest of the Glee Club would be on the first train back home to Lima, Ohio.

She sat on her king sized bed, yawning from another long day sightseeing. Today, the group visited The Statue of Liberty, even though there was no way of going to the top. It sucked that she had to come back to the hotel and start packing. The worst part of any trip was leaving and packing much more clothes and stuff than you came with. At least she had gotten her stuff together.

Rachel Berry, her roommate still hadn't packed. Her shit was everywhere. Clothes were strewn on the burgundy carpet, shoes carelessly atop her bed, and her toiletries still on the nightstand. Rachel didn't seem like the messy type, especially because her outward appearance was very neat and impeccable.

Mercedes would've given Rachel a hand with her stuff if she wasn't such a stuck up bitch. The two girls didn't get along, they never really did. They were both wannabe divas and most times there was only room for one. At the beginning of the trip, Mercedes and Rachel nearly tore Mr. Shue to shreds when he assigned them in the same room. It just wasn't going to work.

It wasn't that Mercedes hated Rachel; she just didn't like always landing second place. Since freshman year, Rachel had gotten almost every important solo while Mercedes always sung backup. No matter how much high notes she could flawlessly hit, she was always stuck in Berry's shadow. If Mercedes didn't know better, she'd think that Rachel was "buying" her way to the top by taking a couple lessons on Shuester's skin flute. As much as she wanted that to be true, Mr. Shue was engaged to Ms. Pillsbury, the bug eyed guidance counselor with an annoyingly squeaky voice.

Rachel was in the shower. She'd been in there since the group got back from their last New York dinner at a local Italian restaurant. That was an almost an hour ago and she wasn't one to take long showers. That was one of the few things the girls didn't argue about. Of course, Rachel was selfish and self-centered. But, she wasn't a bathroom whore. That was at least one good thing Mercedes could say about her.

Talking of showers, she needed one herself. She was a sweaty mess. It was at least seventy degrees in their room and she was still dressed in the heavy layers of sweaters, socks, and pants from earlier. All she wanted was a steamy shower and to finally unwind and relax. She wanted to watch TMZ on the large flat screen TV on the wall in front of her bed. She could even sneak into Tina Cohen-Chang and Sugar Motta's room, blankets and pillows in hand, if being with Rachel became totally unbearable.

Mercedes, both hands clammy, was growing increasingly impatient with Rachel. How long could it possibly take her to wash up? After all, she wasn't even a full B cup and had twigs for arms and legs. That was pretty much her anatomy. Unless, Berry had some extra body parts that she was keeping on the down low.

She'd take off her clothes but her towel and robe were in the bathroom. And there was no way she was going to parade around stark naked especially with another person in the room. No one had ever seen her naked, not even her ex-boyfriend Shane Tinsley. She wasn't about give Rachel Berry, of all people, a sneak preview of her lovely lady parts.

"Berry!" Mercedes exclaimed annoyed. She tugged on the thick fabric of her turtleneck.

"What's taking you so long?" she added.

There was no answer, just the obnoxious sound of the blow dryer and Rachel singing a song in her perfect soprano voice. The blow dryer stopped and so did her annoying singing.

"Rachel fucking Berry!" Mercedes shouted, her voice going up a decimal or two.

The bathroom door finally swung open, a thick air of steam pouring out. Rachel Berry emerged, her chestnut brown hair perfectly coiffed in a wave of curls. She was wearing makeup and not her usual Sunday school look with a little blush and clear lip gloss. She looked like one of the Maybelline models that made Mercedes want to punch herself in the face at how beautiful they were. Her large brown eyes were rimmed with charcoal eyeliner and her lips were painted a dark red.

At first, Mercedes was captivated by Rachel's flawless hair and makeup, not even looking at what the petite brunette was wearing. Mercedes gasped at the black strapless mini dress that snugly accentuated Rachel's curves, or lack thereof. The dress was skin tight and barely reached her lower thighs. On her feet was a pair of faux leather hot pink heels that made her at least five inches taller. As much as Mercedes hated to admit it, Rachel looked really good.

Mercedes, a natural born fashionista, wanted to compliment her. The dress and those to-die-for heels fit her really well even though she looked like a first class skank. But, she kept her mouth shut. The last thing she wanted to do was stroke Rachel's already Goliath-sized ego.

"You called me?" Rachel asked. Her hands were glued to her hips, a small smirk etched on her olive colored face. She looked damn good and she very well knew it.

"What are you dressed up for? Curfew's in half an hour Berry," Mercedes managed to say, her voice matter-of-fact.

"I know," she replied nonchalantly, shrugging her bare shoulders.

"Then why?"

"That's what I actually wanted to talk about," the brunette said. She gave her roommate a friendly grin that dripped fakeness. Mercedes quickly gave her an eye roll. Rachel wasn't one to just act friendly out of the blue. She definitely wanted something.

"There's this indie band that I'm totally in love with that's playing tonight downtown. I've wanted to go all week," Rachel explained. She was seeking sympathy with that pleading, innocent look that she had perfected since her days in diapers.

"Since when are you into indie?" Mercedes asked. She tried to stifle a laugh. The usual Rachel would've scoff at indie music. She was a Barbra Streisand type of girl.

Mercedes wasn't the only one with that question. The other Glee Club girls were asking the same thing all week. Rachel was obsessed with indie music and this underground band. She would listen to their music on full blast whenever she showered, singing along in a loud and crass voice. She would drum her fingers lightly on a table during mealtime, softly singing the lyrics to herself. No one in Glee Club had ever seen Rachel so obsessed with a band, not even Barbra Streisand could compare. There was more to the story than she was letting on.

The mysterious band was what she called _raw _indie. According to her, that was a far cry from the popped out mainstream indie bands, such as Foster the People.

"_Pumped up Kicks is pure garbage!" Rachel argued as the group sat for lunch. _

"Since I found The Cosmic Slices," Rachel retorted. She tried to hide that lovesick smile on her face, failing miserably.

"The who?"

"The Cosmic Slices!" she repeated. The way she said it was in her usual _duh! _tone.

"Is that the band with the horrible lyrics you've been singing all week?" Mercedes asked, smirking.

"They are _not _horrible. _He's _a poet," Rachel snapped, suddenly becoming defensive.

Mercedes shook her head knowingly. There was definitely a boy involved. It was obvious with that dreamy smile on her face, the way she called _him _a poet and not _they, _and her sudden demeanor that screamed protective girlfriend.

Mercedes crossed her arms across her chest. "What's his name?"

Rachel immediately turned beet red, biting her lips in order to stifle a girlish giggle. She was caught red handed!

"Finn Hudson."

"A total Sex God," she added with a cheeky grin.

Rachel grabbed her iPhone and threw it to Mercedes. This Finn Hudson guy was her main screensaver. He was better looking than Mercedes thought. He had insanely disheveled dark brown hair instead on the bright red mohawk she was expecting to see. He was muscular and tanned, which was weird for a so-called indie rocker. Weren't they all pale and walking skeletons? His eyes were covered in the played out shutter shades that Kanye West killed so badly. He gave the camera a rebellious sneer.

"He's cute."

"I know! He's my future husband!" Rachel declared.

Mercedes gave her a weird look and scoffed. This new look was definitely making Rachel crazy, not that she wasn't already fifty shades of mad.

"Anyways…" Rachel started, clearing her throat.

"Tina was my tag along. But she chickened out during dinner," Rachel explained. "She doesn't want to risk getting caught."

"Which is fine and everything. But now I don't have a buddy. I can't possibly go out on my own looking like this."

"_Oh no…" _was the first thought in Mercedes' head. Rachel wanted her to replace Tina as her tag along bitch. Most times, Mercedes couldn't even stand being in the same room with Rachel. She couldn't imagine actually following her downtown and going to this show with her. That's what friends do. She and Rachel definitely weren't friends. They were more like obligated acquaintances, forced to see eye to eye. After all, they both had the same dream. They wanted nothing more than to finally beat their rival Vocal Adrenaline at Nationals.

"I see where this is going Berry. I'm not going to do it. Hell to the no!" Mercedes barked. She snapped her fingers as if it emphasized her answer.

Like always, Rachel didn't give up without a fight. She teetered over to Mercedes and sat next to her on the plush king sized bed.

"I know we're not the best of friends," Rachel started.

"We aren't even friends Berry," Mercedes corrected.

"I'll do anything if you come with me to the gig. I really want to go," Rachel begged. Her dark lips curled into a pout.

"What could you possibly do for me in return?" Mercedes asked, giving Rachel an incredulous look.

Rachel cast her eyes to the ground, biting her lip. Even she didn't know what she was willing to give up. But, then she sighed with resignation. There was one thing Mercedes would not say no to.

"I'll let you take all my lead solos."

Mercedes's eyes widened with shock. She couldn't believe her ears. Did Rachel Berry just willingly offer to give up her solos?

"Even if we make Regionals and Nationals," she added, sighing sadly.

"Deal," Mercedes blurted without thinking. She clasped her hand over her mouth, cursing at herself for being too quick. There was no turning back. She had just agreed to sneak out with Rachel Berry to see some shitty indie band. This was finally Mercedes's chance to be player one instead of her usual player two.

Rachel let out an excited squeal and wrapped her skinny arms around Mercedes. She squeezed with all her might, trembling with excitement.

"I could just kiss you right now!" Rachel exclaimed. Her red lips curled into a giddy grin.

"Um…no thanks Berry. I don't do muff pie," Mercedes said, cracking a grin.

"I don't either Jones. Now just get ready! The gig's at ten thirty" Rachel instructed, grabbing a simple black blazer and her gold clutch. She stuffed her arms into the arms of the jacket, fixing the collar and smoothing the creases.

"Hold up Miss Bossy Pants," Mercedes interjected.

"What?"

"No matter what, we need to be here by midnight. No exceptions!"

"Fair enough," Rachel replied, with an assuring grin. She dabbed a small amount of Chanel No. 5 on her neck and wrists.

Rachel glanced at Mercedes with anxious eyes.

"Hurry!" she demanded.

"We have a concert to get to!"

* * *

**What do you guys think? Any good? Promising? Interesting? Let me know! Don't forget to check out my profile for this story's official playlist!**


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, and followed my story. Your support is not only welcomed but motivating. I wasn't sure how this story would be viewed in this fandom but I am happy that people who actually liked it are looking forward to future chapters. There is one thing that I would like to clarify. Unfortunately for some, Sam and Mercedes aren't going to meet right away. Sam isn't going to fall out of the sky all of a sudden. Like anything else, it takes time and makes the story much more realistic than Sam falling head over heels within the first paragraph. But, don't worry. They will meet and there will be full on Samcedes and the M rating will come in handy. Also, since this is loosely based off of Nick and Norah's Infinitely Playlist, there is a Mercedes & Sam's Epic Night Out official playlist filled with music from well known artists such as The Wanted, LMFAO, Hot Chelle Rae, Boys like Girls, and One Direction. Also, there are a few tracks from some obscure artists like The Chemical Brothers, The Stiff Dylans, and Richard Hell. Nonetheless, head over to my page if you are remotely interested. Without further ado, here's the second chapter!

PAIRINGS: Samcedes, Finnchel, Fabravans, and slight Klaine

DISCLAIMER: Glee is owned by FOX.

RATING: Rated M for strong language, underage drinking, teen angst, drug use, sexual themes and innuendos. For mature audiences only!

* * *

Two

The Morningside Inn

235 West 107th Street

Upper East Side

* * *

"Berry, how are we supposed to get past Frenchie?" Mercedes demanded. She shifted her feet uncomfortably.

She, along with Rachel, was hiding in a little alcove in the Morningside Inn's brightly lit lobby. The pair had managed to quietly leave their hotel room, tip toe down the long corridor and into the elevator without raising a single shred of suspicion. They made it downstairs but Frenchie was going to be a problem. Mercedes's dark eyes were glued to the short and skinny man at the front desk. He had black hair that was slicked back and a weird mustache with handlebars. She grimaced at his black overcoat, white button shirt, and matching bowtie. In her opinion, it was time for Frenchie to get rid of that sad outdated 19th century wardrobe. Maybe that would loosen the stick shoved really far up his little French ass.

To everyone in Glee Club, he was known simply as Frenchie, not that they ever called him that to his face. He was from some remote countryside town in France and had a name that was totally unpronounceable in English. Frenchie was the Morningside Inn's evening concierge. He was prim, proper, and very European. He was sharp-eyed and watchful, thanks to Mr. Shue. At the beginning of the trip, he warned Frenchie to keep an eye out for any students trying to sneak out. Frenchie was like a hawk with these dark beady eyes that gave Mercedes the chills.

Mercedes let out an impatient groan. They had been crouching quietly in the same alcove for at least fifteen minutes. She couldn't talk for the pint sized brunette kneeling next to her. But her knees were killing her and she was creasing the front of her favorite high top Nikes in the process. Frenchie was reading the New Yorker, those owl eyes scanning the magazine intently.

"Berry, I got dressed for this?" Mercedes snapped.

With Rachel's constant nagging and whining about being late to the gig, Mercedes had absolutely no time to actually get ready and look like her normal diva self. She was certain that she had broken some sort of new world record when it came to getting dressed. Usually, it took her close to two hours to get ready. This time, she had taken only a five minute shower and quickly threw on random pieces of clothing, disregarding her most important rule of her outfits having to match. She had no time to actually blow out her hair. Instead, she brushed it out quickly, holding it in place with half a can of hairspray and a sequined black headband. At least, her makeup was decent. She would've broken the deal if it weren't. Her lips were glossed with her favorite lip gloss flavor, raspberry soiree from Lancôme.

The last thing Mercedes wanted to hear while trapped in a small alcove was Rachel complaining endlessly about being late to the gig. For Rachel, even being ten seconds late was out of the question.

"He isn't leaving any time soon," Rachel finally said.

"No shit," Mercedes retorted, with another sarcastic eye roll.

"I have a plan," Rachel said quickly. For reasons unknown, Rachel was cradling a white terrycloth robe along with her clutch.

"Again, why do we need a robe?"

"You'll see."

Rachel quickly threw off her heels and covered herself in the robe. It was huge on her and she was practically swimming in it. She grabbed her oversized black sunglasses from her clutch and placed them on the bridge of her nose. She handed Mercedes her heels and clutch for safe keeping.

"Frenchie hasn't met the real Rachel Berry," she announced, smirking deviously.

The brunette composed herself and quickly got into character.

She dramatically appeared from the alcove and stormed to the front desk, her bare feet slapping harshly against the shiny marble floor. Frenchie looked up from his magazine and placed it neatly on the desk. Rachel, a nasty scowl on her face, opened her mouth before the Frenchman could even blink.

"Who's the manager?" she demanded.

"That is me," Frenchie replied. His accent was thick and he smiled politely at Rachel. Thankfully, he didn't know who she was.

"My fucking toilet is flooded and it ruined my Jimmy Choo slippers!" Rachel shouted furiously. Her hands flailed erratically as she talked.

"I'm so very sorry Miss," Frenchie whispered apologetically.

"You fix that toilet now! Or I'm your gonna here from my lawyer ASAP," she threatened.

"No lawyer," Frenchie stammered. "We fix it now,"

"Ugh! Puh-lease fix it this instant. There's shit and piss everywhere."

"What room?" he said, nearly choking on his words.

"380," Rachel answered dismissively.

Frenchie, red as a ripe tomato, quickly scurried away in search for a janitor. There were beads of sweat trickling down his forehead. Rachel Berry had really scared the shit out of him.

The girls waited a few seconds, making sure that he and his tacky style were out of sight. Mercedes appeared from the alcove, Rachel's heels and gold clutch in hand. The brunette wriggled out of the oversized robe, stuffing it in a nearby trash can. She quickly slipped on her heels, yanked on her blazer, and grabbed her purse. She ran a quick hand through her hair.

"Let's go!"

The girls dashed out of the hotel's revolving door and walked quickly up to the corner of West 107th and Broadway. It was cold out and Mercedes instinctively huddled her arms to her chest. Rachel was unfazed by the cold even though her legs were exposed without stockings.

"That was fun," Rachel breathed, a smug grin on her face.

"How the hell did you pull that off?" Mercedes asked.

She knew that Rachel was a natural born drama queen. She had seen Rachel in action plenty of times during Glee Club meetings and rehearsals. But, Mercedes had no idea that Rachel was that amazing at fooling people.

"I'm not going to NYADA for nothing," Rachel winked.

She hailed a cab and both girls slipped inside.

"Where to?" the wormy faced cabbie asked.

"Arlene's Grocery on Stanton," Rachel replied.

As the taxi drove away, she gave Mercedes a thankful grin.

"I promise tonight will be a night you'll never forget!" she assured.

* * *

Arlene's Grocery

95 Stanton Street

Lower East Side

* * *

"Another please," Sam Evans said. He looked at the gangly bartender and shook his empty Heineken bottle. Within seconds, the old bottle was replaced with a freshly opened one. Usually his day began late at night and tonight was no different. He was at Arlene's Grocery on the Lower East Side. He'd been there a couple of times, mostly with his best friend Noah Puckerman. The blond wasn't too fond of Arlene's. The place was always crowded, the music was almost always shitty, and the beer was shoddy.

From the corner of his eye, Sam watched as Puck downed his third vodka shot. He slammed the glass onto the table. His face contorted and he let out a satisfied grunt.

"This shit's good!" Puck said, shouting over the loud music. He was talking about the vodka, shaking the shot glass eagerly.

Sam rolled his eyes, shook his head, and took another half hearted swig of his drink.

"This shit's shit," was his response.

He was talking about the whole thing. He just wasn't in the mood and the band's music was epic garbage. He knew Puck was just trying to be a good friend by dragging him to Arlene's. Puck wouldn't let his best friend stay in bed all day like a pussy.

"C'mon Sammy boy! Enjoy our last night of vacation!" Puck shouted, knocking his shoulder in Sam's. "Tomorrow, it's back to the ole drawing board," he added.

Sam grimaced at the thought of going back to school. Tomorrow morning he would be dressed in his school uniform that consisted of pressed khakis, a white button down shirt, a red tie, and a navy blue blazer. Like always, he was going to meet Puck down the street from The Oxford, the white gloved doorman building that Sam called home. Then, they were going to walk, sharing a cigarette, to The Windsor Day School for Boys on Madison Avenue and start yet another week of monotony. Drinking water-downed beer while watching a shit band play was not in the equation.

Puck looked at him, shook his head, and smirked. "Q's got you pussy whipped bad Evans," he simply said.

Sam glared at him. _She _was the last thing he wanted to talk about. Puck ignored the glare and continued.

"_You_ broke up with _her_. _You_ were the one who said that _she_ was a bitch. Remember?" he yelled.

Sam sullenly shrugged his shoulders, staring at his half finished beer. For once, Puck was right. _He_ did break up with _her_. At first, He thought he was doing himself a favor. She was clingy, jealous, overbearing and most of all, a world class bitch. But, the breakup actually stung. There was a part of him that actually kind of missed her and that annoying high-pitched voice. After all, it was only three nights ago on New Year's Eve.

_There were two minutes left before the New Year. Puck had thrown a huge New Year's bash in his three story penthouse suite on Park Avenue. Everyone was gathering in the living room to watch the ball drop on Puck's movie theater sized TV, eager to ring in 2012 with style. Everyone was having an awesome time, except for him and his girlfriend Quinn Fabray. They were on the verge of breaking up for like the fiftieth time that year. They were locked in the upstairs bathroom arguing. _

_Well, Quinn was screaming her blonde head off while Sam stared blankly at her, tuning her out. All he wanted to do was ring in the New Year by downing a few more Jell-O shots and finishing the roach in his pocket. From the bathroom, Sam could hear the boisterous laughter, the clink of beer bottles, and Puck screaming for everyone to get ready for the countdown. _

_Sam should've seen this coming, especially because they had been fighting more than ever for the past week. Quinn had come back from St. Bart's two days after Christmas with a sexy peanut butter tan but bitchier than ever. He'd made the mistake of inviting Quinn to Puck's bash, especially because Quinn loathed Puck and the fact that Sam chose to hang out with more than her. _

_The drama started when Sam chose to drink and smoke instead of paying attention to her. He was already on her shit list for ignoring her calls on Christmas Day. She lost it when she spotted Sam getting a little too close with some random girl that he was innocently smoking with. _

_He couldn't help but stare hungrily at Quinn, licking his red lips. After all, he was a little tipsy, a little stoned, and itching for a good fuck to ring in the New Year. She was wearing a red mini dress so short that her perfectly round ass was almost hanging out and leather white heels. Quinn was the hottest girl on the Upper East Side and he was probably the luckiest motherfucker in New York. She was a cheerleader and an avid tennis player. It definitely showed. She was a hottie with a banging supermodel's body. All Sam wanted to do was to slip his large hands under her dress. He wanted to hear the sound of her moaning crazily as he finger fucked her against the porcelain sink. He was pretty sure she wasn't wearing any…_

"_Are you even listening to me?" Quinn demanded, stamping her foot angrily on the marble floor. She was waving her hands furiously in Sam's face. He quickly snapped out of his thoughts and stared at the seething blonde girl looking up at him. Her hazel eyes were narrowed into a death glare and her nostrils were flaring. Suddenly he wasn't in the mood. _

"_See! You never fucking listen!" Quinn screeched. She threw her tanned arms into the air. _

_Sam rolled his eyes, enough was enough. He couldn't take Quinn's petty drama anymore. _

"_I never do anything right!" _

_It was the first thing he said during the whole bathroom argument. Like Quinn with him, Sam found her both annoying and irritating. With them, it was the same old sob story. _

_She was a clingy bitch while he was an underachieving loser. _

_She was going to Yale while he wanted to go to art school._

_She was super jealous and territorial while he had wandering eyes. _

_She was too high maintenance while he was high all the time. _

_The list when on and on. _

_She started her screaming again. There was no end in sight. Sam ears perked up at the sound of the New Year's countdown. There was no chance of joining in on the fun. Because of his shitty luck, he would ring in the New Year in the bathroom with his girlfriend. And not in the way he wanted to. _

_5!  
"Sam! Listen to me!" Quinn demanded. _

_4! _

"_You asshole!" she hissed. _

_3!_

"_Quinn, we're through" Sam blurted without thinking. It practically flew from his lips. Quinn blinked at him with disbelief. She was the one always dumping him, not the other way around. _

_2!_

_1! _

"_Fuck you Sam Evans!" she shouted. With one quick motion, she slapped him squarely on his left cheek. Like a herd of banshees, everyone downstairs began to scream: "Happy New Year!" _

"_You're going to pay for this!" Quinn threatened before slamming the door. _

_She was gone and left Sam starry eyed in the bathroom. His hand was glued to his red cheek. There wasn't go to be any midnight kiss or bathroom quickie. All he was going to get a bitch slap across the face. This would be a New Year's for the ages. _

"Dude, this place is crawling with chicks!" Puck said. Sam's green eyes lazily scanned the crowded and dimly lit room. Again, Puck was right. There were an unusually high percentage of girl compared to guys. Most were indie chicks and/or hipster wannabes, wearing oversized T-shirts, skinny jeans, those clichéd geek glasses, and sheepskin moccasins. They were all screaming crazily and singing loudly along to the music. They were all there to see the band, Sam was sure of it.

The said band was The Cosmic Slices and Finn Hudson, the lead singer, was the main attraction. The Slices was the most famous indie band in New York's underground music scene. They were known for their so-called poetic lyrics and their famous secret shows that threw their fans for a loop. Most importantly, Finn was the perfect indie rocker despite being a rich kid from the Upper East Side. Finn, wearing his trademark dark shutter shades and white wife beater, was shouting gibberish lyrics into the mic while the rest of the band sloppily played along. They were halfway through their set.

Sam knew of Finn Hudson, who was a few years older than him. Finn graduated from Windsor Day when Sam was a freshman. All Sam knew about Finn was that he was pretty much an outcast of New York's high society. He went to Dartmouth in New Hampshire but got kicked out after four weeks for dealing E from his dorm room. He came back to New York, lost his trust fund, and formed a band with three NYU misfits that he knew. He was a fucking legend. Girls dropped their panties for him. Fucking three girls was considered a slow night from Finn.

"Forget Q. I bet there are plenty of easy girls here willing to bang in the bathroom," Puck assured.

Sam nodded in agreement as he finished his beer. Most girls who came to Arlene's were looking for a good time even if they couldn't get with the band. He needed to blow off some steam. It was two months and counting since he had gotten any, thanks to Quinn refusing to put out. He wanted, no needed a girl, and fast.

His eyes drifted from girl to girl, licking his lips as each girl seemed prettier than the last. Finally, he settled on a short and petite girl with long red hair. She wore a jumper, fishnet stockings, and Doc Martens. The girl was the polar opposite to Quinn's preppy style. Plus, Sam had never done a red head. He had a plan. He'd wait until The Slices played their last song. Then, he'd approach her with Puck acting as his wing man. He'd even tell her that he was friends with Finn if she was the groupie type.

Out of nowhere, Puck quickly tapped him and said. "Look at her!"

Puck's eyes were glued on a tiny brunette. Like the rest of the girls, she was singing along and pushing forth to the stage. She was definitely a cutie, especially in that suggestive black mini dress and those hot pink heels.

"She's a bona fide rock star sex kitten," Puck crooned. Sam nodded his head in agreement. She was definitely a rock star sex kitten. Sam was sure of it by the way her dress rode up her thighs. He came across sex kittens especially at music gigs like this. They were the girls dressed like sluts, hoping to fuck the lead singer or even the entire band. That girl was definitely looking for a fuck.

Suddenly, Sam's eyes widened at what he assumed to be the sex kitten's friend. She was a full bodied black girl who wasn't an indie, hipster, or sex kitten. She stuck out like a sore thumb. Her style screamed diva instead of indie and people noticed.

She was getting weird looks from indie and hipster snobs, the kind that liked their stuff to be totally exclusive from the mainstream crowd. Another problem was that she was biggest and curviest girl in the room. Her sex kitten friend seemed to fit in more because of her size. It was a known fact that Indies and hipsters were always under a certain weight. Even the guys, who were certified manorexics.

Sam couldn't take his eyes off of her even though she wasn't his typical type. He liked his girls petite and most times blonde. But, there was something about this girl that captivated him. She was certainly pretty and her smile made him smile. She bobbed her head to the music and seemed like she was enjoying herself. She didn't notice the hateful stares she was getting or she noticed but didn't care. The girl was confident and Sam liked that. Actually, he found it really hot.

Suddenly, he wasn't in the mood to fuck that hipster redhead in the bathroom. Heck, he wasn't even in the mood to get drunk or get high.

He just wanted to talk to that girl.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey everyone! Once again, thanks for all the support, views, reviews, follows, and alerts. It is very much appreciated. I am sincerely excited that I am sharing this story after weeks of inner debate. I believed that writing a story that entirely takes place on one night was going to be a challenge because I was afraid that it would drag on and be too slow for the readers. But, now I love the fact that I came up with this idea and that I am courageous enough to go through with it. Before I introduce the 3rd chapter, I would like to thank the following people for reviewing the second chapter:

**Jadziwine **

**dorknhime **

**Toni Michelle**

**gurlchocolate **

**box5angel**

**Kimpa7809**

**zeejack **

**mizzjuicysarai **

PAIRINGS: Samcedes, Finnchel, Fabravans, and slight Klaine

DISCLAIMER: Glee is owned by FOX.

RATING: Rated M for strong language, underage drinking, teen angst, drug use, sexual themes and innuendos. For mature audiences only!

* * *

Three

Arlene's Grocery

95 Stanton Avenue

Lower East Side

* * *

Even though Mercedes hated to admit it, The Cosmic Slices were actually pretty decent. The staticky songs on Rachel's iPhone did them absolutely no justice. The lyrics actually had some meaning even though the lead singer was shouting incoherently into the mic. The girls that surrounded her were completely spellbound by Finn as if he were all five One Direction members wrapped up in one, including Rachel. The brunette had had a couple of Coors Lights before the show, which loosened her up quite a bit. Like the other girls, Rachel was screaming excitedly and singing along with Finn. Mercedes was certain that the brunette was going to lose that perfect voice of hers with all the shouting that she was doing.

This Finn guy was definitely all guy compared to the rest of the band. His band mates were all tall, sallow, and rail thin. Finn was muscular, even though his pants were so tight that the outline of his crotch was in full view. He also wore a tight wife beater that showed of the large tattoo written on his chest that read: _Live Fast and Die Young. _That saying pretty much summed up all of rock stardom. He was wearing those black shutter shades and the same sneer she had seen on Rachel's phone.

Mercedes was a little uncomfortable in the crowd and hid it well behind her pearly white smile. The people that she was scrunched up against were giving her blatant looks of disapproval. They were all hipster snobs as she liked to call them. She wasn't wearing those ugly geek glasses or sheepskin moccasins and they obviously didn't like it. She wasn't one of them hence making them snobby elitists.

Although Mercedes was usually self assured and held her head up high, she couldn't help but feel a little self conscious. She was surrounded in a sea of skinny white bitches and guys who looked like skinny white bitches. Yet, she tried not to think too much of it. She tried to ignore the snickers and the not-so-discreet stares that she got the minute entered the bar.

The song was coming to an end with a climatic guitar solo and Finn doing, what looked like, a victory dance. The crowd erupted in cheers as he shouted an enthusiastic thank you.

As the crowd began to disperse, Rachel began to laugh and held herself up by holding on to Mercedes's shoulder. She was a little drunk by one too many Coors Lights.

"Wow!" She shouted, slurring her words a bit. She let out a big whoop and began to giggle like a little child. Rachel was completely oblivious to the stares she was getting from guys. They were practically eye fucking her senseless. From her dancing and bouncing around, Rachel's dress came dangerously close to giving everyone a free preview of her cotton underwear. That's only if she was wearing any.

"Where's Finny?" Rachel asked. She sounded like a complete ditz.

"We need to get back," Mercedes said, ignoring Rachel's question. She wasn't even going to even attempt to entertain that question. Rachel gave her a lazy nod and craned her neck for Finn Hudson, her supposed husband-to-be.

Mercedes needed to get her drunken roommate to the hotel in one piece. She herself was a little exhausted and could feel a throbbing headache coming on from the loud music.

"Let me go to the bathroom," Mercedes added. She grabbed Rachel's arm to bring her along. But, Rachel pulled her hand back.

"I don't wanna go."

Mercedes rolled her eyes and said, "Whatever Berry. Just stay here then."

Rachel gave her another dazed nod. Mercedes started for the bathroom, leaving the brunette standing in the middle of the bar, a starry eyed look on her face. The bathroom had red lights, yellow walls, and reeked of incense.

She quickly used the toilet, fixed her already messed up hair, and applied a thin layer of her raspberry lip gloss. She grimaced at herself in the circular mirror. She definitely wasn't looking her best, thanks to Rachel rushing her like a drill sergeant. Thankfully, she still managed to look somewhat like her usual diva self. She really didn't care about mix matching a bright yellow blazer, a black scoop neck T-shirt and blue and orange high top Nikes. There wasn't any legit reason to be self conscious. After all, she and Rachel were going to leave pronto and were going to catch the first cab back to the hotel. Within an hour, Mercedes was going to be fast asleep, like tonight never happened.

Surprisingly, the night had gone so much better than she expected. Berry had gotten what she wanted, to see the dreamy Finn Hudson sing with his band. In two days, Mercedes would be back at McKinley ready to take the role of lead singer of New Directions. It was a win-win situation and nothing was going to go wrong.

Two hipster girls, wearing matching floral dresses and hippie headbands, were whispering about her. Mercedes rolled her eyes and ignored them. Haters were going to hate. Besides, the two looked as if they needed at least ten dollars worth of McDonalds each. Satisfied with her glossed lips, Mercedes left the bathroom and searched for her dazed classmate.

The crowd was thinning out and there was indie music playing on the loud speaker. Rachel wasn't in the spot that Mercedes left her in. She wasn't by the bar getting another Coors Light. There were only two guys at the bar, a blond and a boy with a mohawk. Mercedes didn't even notice that the blond was ogling her.

Her roommate had disappeared and was nowhere to be found. The short girl began to panic and could feel her chest becoming tight with anxiety. The brunette was gone without a trace. Mercedes began to look for a pair of skinny legs wearing hot pink heels. There were moccasins, Doc Martens, even Birkenstocks. But no patent leather hot pink heels.

_Oh Crap. _

_Rachel was gone! _

Her stomach instantly fell deep into her stomach. This could not be happening, especially not after a perfect night. A missing Rachel meant that the events of their night were going to be exposed. Mercedes was a thousand percent positive, that Mr. Shue was going to kick their asses out of Glee Club. They could be suspended or even expelled, depending on Shue's level of anger. Mercedes needed to find that skinny, loud mouthed, soon-to-be-dead girl. And fast.

Mercedes glanced at her diamond encrusted Blackberry. It was almost eleven-thirty and she needed to act fast. She stumbled through the bar, tripping over her feet. She almost got whiplash by the way she kept turning her head from side to side. There was no sight of Berry and oddly there was no sight of Rachel's favorite band.

_Holy Fuck. _

Worst case scenarios began to play rapidly in her head. Mercedes knew very well that Rachel was adamant on meeting Finn Hudson. Heck, Berry kept saying that on the cab ride to Arlene's. She was crazy and drunk enough to do so. Maybe Rachel met Finn Hudson, fell instantly in love with his rugged good looks, and wandered off with him like another groupie. He and the band probably forced her into a dark alley and did some psycho human sacrifice shit. She watched _Jennifer's Body _too many times to count. Like Adrian Brody, Finn Hudson was hot and mysterious. He made the perfect killer.

She didn't know where to go from here, especially because she had no clue where to find Rachel and that band. She was in New York City for crying out loud! There were nearly eight million people in the city and she was forced to find one girl and four guys. The odds were definitely not in her favor.

Lost in her thoughts, Mercedes didn't even notice that someone was talking to her. She whipped around to see that mohawk haired boy and the blond from the bar staring at her. Somehow she had made it to the bar and was two seconds away from knocking into them and spilling their beer all over them.

"You look lost," The blond said. His large red lips were curled in a smirk, his green eyes glued on her.

"You have no idea," Mercedes snapped. She didn't mean to be rude but she had no time for conversation at the moment. She had a slut to find.

"Maybe if you tell me what's wrong I could help," he replied, unfazed by her rudeness. That smirk was still on his face and Mercedes could tell it wasn't going anywhere.

She couldn't tear her eyes away from him. Usually, she liked her men dark and handsome, emphasis on the dark. Yet, this boy was very cute, in the All American white boy type of way. He was Man of Steel gorgeous. She bit her lip at the way his pale blond hair was tousled in this just-rolled-out-of-bed sex hair. She could tell that he was very athletic by the way his navy blue hoodie looked as if it were two sizes too small. It was official. Blondie was a bona fide Sex God, with unusually large red lips.

Mercedes took him up on his offer to help her. What other choice did she have? Plus, Rachel probably wasn't that hard to miss. Although the bar was packed with dozens of brunettes, Rachel probably stood out from the crowd. She was wearing a crotch dress that practically screamed _Hey look at me! I'm a slut! _Girls wearing that kind of ensemble were definitely very hard to overlook.

"Would you happen to have seen a brunette wearing a black mini dress?" She asked, looking hopefully at Blondie and his mohawk haired friend.

The boys glanced quickly at each other. Mohawk boy grinned from ear to ear.

_Yup. They definitely saw her. _

Mohawk boy turned to Mercedes and said, "Yeah I've seen her."

There was a glimmer of hope in Mercedes's that died faster than Kim Kardashian's wedding at Mohawk boy's next remark.

"She's long gone."

"She left with The Slices," Blondie added. He gave her an apologetic look.

Mercedes shook her head in disbelief. Her worst nightmare was coming true. Rachel had left with the band, drunken and out of it. She was with four older guys; one being the boy she was supposedly in love with. She was also dressed like a high class hooker, which only added fuel to the inferno that was brewing.

This was a mistake. This whole fucking night was one big mistake. She knew she should've not only said no but threaten to tell Mr. Shuester if Rachel set foot out of their hotel room. Being lead singer of New Directions, the dream she's had since Freshman year, was so not worth what was about to go down.

"Do you know where The Slices are?" was Mercedes's next question.

Mohawk boy laughed and gave her an incredulous look, "They're off to their secret show."

Mercedes furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. This night couldn't get any weirder.

_Secret show? What secret show? _

"Where's that?"

"You're obviously aren't from here, right?" Mohawk boy asked. He gave her a mocking smirk as if the word TOURIST was written across her forehead with a sharpie marker.

"No one knows. You have to find it," Blondie explained.

"Oh," was Mercedes's reply.

She. Was. Fucked.

"If you want we could help you find her," Blondie offered nonchalantly. He gave her an enthusiastic grin.

Her eyes squinted into a suspicious look. Rachel ran away with a bunch of strangers and Mercedes wasn't about to do the same. She was more than capable of finding Berry on her own.

"Thanks. But no thanks."

She started for the door when Blondie blurted his next response.

"Do you even know where you're going?"

Mercedes turned around and tried to hide her nervousness, failing miserably.

"No," she admitted sheepishly, letting out a defeated sigh.

"Then how do you expect to find the secret show if the city is all one big mystery to you?" he asked.

"I'm not roaming New York City with a bunch of strangers," Mercedes retorted. She crossed her hands across her well endowed chest.

"Well, I'm Sam," Blondie replied smiling.

"And I'm Puck," Mohawk boy announced. "And I must admit, we both love your DSL. Sammy more than me," he added, grinning slyly.

Sam gave Puck a discreet glare as Mercedes stared at them in confusion. She didn't even want to know what Puck meant. She had no time to.

"Ha. Ha. Puckerman," Sam said sarcastically.

"Don't listen to him because he's leaving."

The two boys locked eyes and Sam gave Puck a dismissive nod.

"He's right. I'm not in the mood to play hide and seek."

He took one last swig of his beer and gave Sam a quick bro hug. Within seconds, he disappeared into the bustle of the Lower East Side.

"Well Sammy, we have a band to find," Mercedes announced.

* * *

**Yay! Sam and Mercedes finally met and under dire circumstances! I just made you guys happy and uber excited! R&R as always. Also, forgive any spelling or grammatical mistakes that you may find. The fourth installment is coming soon for those who are impatient. **


	4. Chapter 4

Happy September Samcedes shippers! There's less than one week until senior year and that means that I'm going to be busy than ever with college prep stuff. However, I will try my very best to update whenever possible. This chapter is kind of long and I want to apologize beforehand to anyone who feels that this chapter is way too detailed, dragging, and/or doesn't contain much action. There is a lot of back story, mostly about Sam, that I felt was necessary to include so that you readers can better identify with Mercedes and Sam, two teenagers living in the 21st century filled with recklessness, sex, drugs, music, and booze. (For anyone who doesn't understand slang terms used here (ex: DSL or Dick Sucking Lips), please find your way to).

As always, I would like to thank the following people who took the time to review Chapter 3:

**Jollyrancher-25**

**Shanty-noel03**

**Jadziwine**

**Zeejack**

**Suprnova8**

**Dorknhime**

**Snugglebunny25**

**Gurlchocolate**

**Box5angel**

**Toni Michelle **

Your support is sincerely appreciated!

PAIRINGS: Samcedes, Finnchel, Fabravans, and slight Klaine

DISCLAIMER: Glee is owned by FOX.

RATING: Rated M for strong language, underage drinking, teen angst, drug use, sexual themes and innuendos. For mature audiences only!

* * *

Four

The Streets of Avenue C & Broadway

Lower East Side

* * *

"Lemme get this straight," Sam started. There was an amused grin etched on his pale face as he glanced down at the girl from Arlene's he had been dying to talk to.

Her name was Mercedes and Sam found her to be much prettier up close. Her eyes were a glossy brown that reminded him of whiskey on a good day. Her skin was absolutely radiant and, as horribly cliché as it sounded, was like melted dark chocolate. Plus, Puck was spot on when it came to her glossy red lips. The girl definitely had a smoking pair of DSL on her. He couldn't help but wonder if she ever put those to good use.

Yet, as much as he needed a good fuck, Sam didn't want to use this girl for a sexercism, as Puck liked to call it. He was definitely attracted to her, in more ways than one, but he wanted to get to know this girl, for her. She seemed like a pretty cool and genuine girl, who was way too good to be a one night stand. And, maybe if he got lucky, something interesting could happen between them.

The pair was walking aimlessly down Broadway and Avenue C. There was a few cars dawdling down the deserted avenue. The Lower East Side wasn't really a tourist attraction at night, save for the night owls who hopped from bar to bar. Actually, they were a couple of blocks away from Tompkins Square. That was where he and Puck usually scored pot from some orthodox Jewish kid from Brooklyn.

"You and this girl decided to sneak out of your hotel because she wanted to see The Slices play?" he added.

Mercedes had let him in on the whole story and why she was looking for that sex kitten girl. Unsurprisingly, the sex kitten was in "love" with Finn Hudson like every other groupie in New York. Finn was one popular and busy guy.

Sam had actually seen this Rachel girl leave through the backdoor with Finn and his band mates. She was holding herself up on his rock hard shoulders, whispering something in his ear. Surprisingly, Finn actually seemed interested in her, or maybe the dress she was wearing was doing all the talking. There were other girls throwing themselves at him but he paid them no mind as he spotted Rachel clawing her way through the crowd. If you asked Sam, the whole thing was an indie rock version of Romeo and Juliet with the whole _love at first sight _shit.

He couldn't help but laugh at the fact that Mercedes actually hated her sex kitten classmate. The fucking irony! According to her, she only decided to tag along because of some promise to be lead singer of their school's Glee Club. To Sam, the thought of Glee Club sounded like a heap of horse shit and a total waste of time. Windsor Day had a Glee Club but everyone knew that it was social suicide to even be associated with the club. The flaming 'mos were usually the ones that made up Windsor's Glee Club.

She was a singer, which meant that that mouth of hers was much more talented than he expected. That was a fact that played in his mind like a great opening to a superhero movie or a porno.

"Epic!" Sam blurted with a chuckle.

She gave him a scowl and an eye roll in response. "More like craptastic," she retorted.

"Do you even know where we're going?" she asked, changing the subject. She was growing restless and impatient. She was probably tired from another day of being a tourist or whatever.

She looked at him expectantly with those whiskey colored eyes. They had been walking without direction for almost twenty minutes and they were nowhere close to finding Rachel, Finn Hudson, or the his indie entourage.

Honestly, Sam had never actually been to a Cosmic Slices secret show. It was way too tiring and frustrating to actually find it. Besides, he didn't really have that great of an attention span anyway, thanks to his dyslexia and his favorite pastime. Every other night, Sam's Facebook newsfeed practically blew up with status updates and pictures on the band's whereabouts. Most of the clues were unreliable.

_How the fuck could The Slices be in three totally different parts of the city at the exact same time? _

It was total bullshit. By the second clue, he'd give up and head back home to The Oxford. He'd have a Heineken and a couple bong hits before calling it a night.

The whole secret show was The Cosmic Slices' way of garnering a larger fan base. Of course, it was all Finn's idea. He was looking for the big break that could bring his indie band to instant fame, endless moolah, and a different chick every night.

Knowing Finn, that Rachel girl could be anywhere. He had no clue where to go. His iPhone had yet to spit out another Facebook notification. The Slices must've really been under the radar tonight.

"It's a game of clue," Sam replied nonchalantly. He gave her an apologetic grin. There was nothing he could really do about it. Just like her, he was pretty much lost.

"Aren't we a little too old for Blue's Clues?" Mercedes asked. Her glossy eyes were flickering with sass, her plump lips curled into a small mocking grin. She was definitely quick witted and cheeky. Sam could get used to this girl.

"No one's ever too old for Blue!" Sam retorted with a scoff.

It wasn't something he would openly admit to Puck or any other of his guy friends. Yet, it was true because the blond watched it all the time. He found the kid's show refreshingly laugh inducing. He'd sit in front of the living room TV with a large box of Oreos in his lap and munch eagerly on a cookie as he yelled excitedly at the TV whenever Steve looked straight at the audience.

There was a brief silence as the two walked side by side. Sam's hands were stuffed in his pockets. His cheeks were lobster red from the ice cold wind. Mercedes seemed fine in just a thin yellow blazer.

Sam smirked at the way Mercedes took in her surroundings with a sense of awe. She definitely wasn't from around here, at least not New York City. A typical New Yorker would never be remotely awestruck or impressed by the Lower East Side. Only a total grockle would. If he was lucky, she would be some Jersey girl from the shore. She was definitely a newbie in the city, maybe living under a rock for most of her life.

"Where're you from?" Sam asked.

Her cheeks burned at that question. It didn't take a genius to know that the poor girl was embarrassed about where she was from.

_Oh, this was going to be good. _

"Ohio."

Sam blinked at her. "Midwest Ohio?"

The first thing that came to his mind at the thought of Ohio was tractors, cattle, and a never ending sea of cornfields.

She gave him an _Are you serious? _look. "I'm positive there's only one Ohio Blondie," she said matter-of-factly.

He shook his head. "Touché Mercy."

Sam smirked at his new nickname for her. It was damned cute if he said so himself.

"Where're you from?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Uptown," was his simple answer.

"What's Uptown?" she pressed curiously.

Sam licked his lips nervously. This was the part that he dreaded the most. He wasn't really the type to divulge on what part of the city he was actually from. He was an Upper East Sider, a trust fund baby, another douche with rich white boy problems. He pretty much heard every insult in the book. Yet, Sam didn't really like the elite life of the Upper East Side, he fucking hated it. His peers since Park Side Montessori were a bunch snobby assholes who spent their summers in Cape Cod, traveled to Aspen every winter, and shopped at Sak's Fifth Avenue instead of the "low class" Abercrombie & Fitch. Most would say he was one of them, but he refused to agree with that. Sure, he liked the easy money to get what he wanted but that was pretty much it.

Besides going to Windsor Day, Sam didn't really spend much of his time in the playground of Manhattan's elite. He preferred hanging out downtown with Puck, scoring pot from Tompkins Square, and getting wicked drunk, thanks to their authentic looking fake IDs.

Although the mere mention of his address was an instant panty dropper, Sam didn't really give two fucks that he lived in one of the most expensive apartment buildings in Manhattan. He wasn't the All-American boy bound for Yale that his parents tried to upkeep. Yeah, he was going to Yale next fall, thanks mostly to his parent's abundance of money and that fact that his dad was a big shot senator. Plus, Quinn was also going to Yale and it just worked out that way. Besides, it was the unwritten rule of high school and pretty much life. They were the hottest couple on the Upper East Side, the Barbie and Ken of Windsor and Saint Celia's. It was only right that they were both going off to New Haven together, or not so together.

He wasn't exactly sure if he even wanted to go to Yale like his father did. The image that his parents tried to maintain worked wonders for Stacie and Stevie, the two golden children of the Evans clan. Sam was the rotten apple, the outcast so to speak. His mom, a wealthy southern belle from Nashville and the daughter of an oil tycoon, always bitched about his unkempt hair that reached his neck, his less than average grades, and his little habit that always got him into trouble.

_Why can't you be like Stacie and Stevie? _Mama Evans would say.

He was a legit pothead who wanted to go to art school instead of that shit Ivy League. He wanted to work for Marvel or even start his own comic book series. He and Puck talked about it, mostly over a joint or two. Much to his father's dismay, Sam wasn't the next political big cat. That shit was Stevie's destiny.

One time, his parents almost disowned his ass when he showed up an hour late to a state dinner at the Waldorf Astoria. Daddy Evans was the guest speaker. His eyes were glazed and his pale blond hair was unkempt. He was wearing a black beanie and no tie. Instead of Dolce & Gabana loafers, he was wearing his old pair of scuffed Nike uptowns. He fucking reeked of cannabis and vodka. He was so close to losing his trust fund and his endless supply of alcohol and pot. The scare straightened him up a bit, but not enough to be like his brother and sister.

"The Upper East Side."

Mercedes looked at him with a perplexed look on her face. Yup, she was definitely a grockle. The mere mention of the Upper East Side would make a less than privileged New York scoff in his face or a gold digger's eyes seeing dollar signs.

"Near the Met?" she asked.

Sam nodded his head. Coincidently, The Oxford was on Fifth Avenue, right around the corner from The Met. "You can say that," he said, clearing his throat.

"Tell me about yourself," Sam said. He swallowed the lump in his throat. The subject of where he lived needed to end.

"About what?"

God, he couldn't keep himself from smiling like an idiot around Mercedes.

"I have no idea if I'm walking with a mass murderer or a serial rapist attracted to hot blond boys," was Sam's quick rebuttal. He was just busting her chops. But, he hoped she was into hot blond boys, like himself. That would make his night much more exciting.

"I could say the same thing about you including hot blond boys," Mercedes returned cheekily.

"Honestly, I'm curious."

As they ambled closer to Bleecker Street, Sam listened intently as Mercedes explained her not-so-epic life in middle-of-nowhere Ohio. She was the daughter of a small time dentist and lived in a modest house on a suburban cul-de-sac. The girl was a senior like him and went to McKinley High School but, unlike him, she was a straight A student. Sam knew of the president named McKinley, first name whatever. He just couldn't tell whether this McKinley guy was the eighth, eighteenth, or the twenty eighth president.

Mercedes ended up in The Big Apple on a school trip sponsored by her school's Glee Club. Tomorrow morning at seven, she would be on the first train out of Penn Station headed west for the cornfields of Ohio.

He tried his very best to listen as she spoke. Yet, he couldn't help but stare in fucking awe at the way her lips formed every word oh so perfectly. Fuck! How he wanted those lips pressed against his lips and other parts of his body. This getting to know her was still his top priority but his second head was beginning to meddle with that.

She was in the middle of explaining her time in New York, when his iPhone suddenly jiggled in his pocket. He quickly glanced at Mercedes, a relieved look in his deep green eyes. Finally, a damned clue. He was seconds away from throwing himself at her.

Mercedes stopped midsentence as Sam fished his tattered True Religion jeans for his phone. He looked at the caller ID and rolled his eyes. It was his asshole best friend, Noah Puckerman.

"Fuck Miss DSL yet?" was Puck's greeting. Sam could hear the sound of Puck's LED television blaring on max.

"Very mature Puckerman." Sam answered sarcastically. "What do you want?"

"Someone told me where The Slices might be." Puck shouted into the phone.

"Who?" Sam asked curiously.

"Lauren."

"Lauren Zizes?"

Sam was a little dubious about it. Lauren and Puck haven't talked in a while. They were pretty much dead to each other. The blond couldn't help but think that Puck was fucking her again without telling him.

"Yeah dude. She was the girl who rocked my world," Puck crooned.

Lauren Zizes went to Saint Celia's Preparatory School, the all girl's school directly across the street from Windsor. Zizes was definitely no beauty queen, which surprised Sam when Puck told him about her. Puckerman usually liked his girls small, slender, and a little airheaded.

Their relationship started as a random drunken hookup at some rooftop party. That one night fuck ended up turning into a full blown _Friends with Benefits_ relationship. Surprisingly, Lauren was the one who dumped Puck. He had gotten too emotionally attached. She claimed that a boyfriend/girlfriend relationship wasn't her thing.

"What did she say?"

"Remember Finn Hudson's after prom bash a couple years back?" Puck asked. Sam could imagine that nostalgic look in Puck's eyes. It was probably the best party both boys had ever been to. Kids on the Upper East Side still talked about it. To date, no one was able top a party that good.

"How could I forget?"

He and Puck were both in ninth grade while Hudson was a graduating senior. After Windsor and Saint Celia's _A Night in Paris _themed prom, Finn threw an after prom party in the Presidential Suite of the Plaza Hotel, the best money can buy. Like many of the other underclassmen, Sam and Puck decided to crash the party. After all, there wasn't any clear cut guest list.

The amount of alcohol and drugs were free flowing. There was everything from cocaine to malt liquor. The slutty girls from the French all girls' school on the Upper West Side took refuge in the hot tub showing off their perky B cup boobs and perfectly waxed lady parts. There was dancing, grinding, gyrating, and fist pumping. The silk couches and floors were ruined with piss and vomit stains. The four bathrooms were occupied with threesomes to fivesomes, the bedrooms were destroyed from top to bottom, and the marble floors were littered with beer cans and empty vodka bottles.

That was the first time Sam had ever gotten drunk. He woke up the next morning with a throbbing headache and dried vomit caked around his lips. He went home with a moustache, a pointed beard, and the word COCKSUCKER drawn on his face with a sharpie. According to Puck, it was some random but good looking badass who tagged the blond.

That also was the first time Sam met Quinn Fabray. She was the new girl at Saint Celia's from some boarding school in New England. She was the daughter of an ex-supermodel and the senior VP of Barclays. He couldn't stop staring at her as she sat in a corner talking with a bunch of girls, a red solo cup in her perfectly manicured hands. She had long golden blonde hair that fell well past her shoulders and a beautiful smile that made him weak in the knees. She was wearing a simple white linen dress that made her look so delicate and showed off her tanned shoulders. She was stealing glances at him with her wide hazel eyes and blushed furiously whenever he caught her.

Thanks to a few Sam Adams and Puck's encouragement, he mustered up the courage to ask her to dance. They danced like Vince and Mia from _Pulp Fiction, _so flawless and in tune. Every girl watched in envy as Sam held Quinn close, his hands around her tiny waist. Every guy watched as the hottest girl in the room laughed gleefully as Sam spun her in circles. As they say, the rest was history.

Quinn Fabray was Sam's first love. It was a shame that things ended the way it did. Back then, she was beautiful, carefree, and a free spirit. She didn't care about the fakeness and frivolity of the Upper East Side. There was this one time, early on in their relationship, when Sam was stuck in the August heat of the city at another political event. He was stuck at the Yale Club wearing a constricting business suit and standing awkwardly among kids he didn't know as his dad schmoozed endlessly for the upcoming gubernatorial election, which he lost anyway. He complained to Quinn over text as she was being ignored by her ass kissing father at a business brunch in Connecticut. She escaped from the event and took the first Metro North train to Grand Central. Sam remembered the moment he fell in love with her as she emerged from the train in an Oscar de la Renta sundress and cheap dollar store flip flops. They spent the day and night at the carnival in Coney Island.

As months passed, however, Quinn became another plastic Upper East Side Barbie. Her nose was stuck up to anyone who wasn't anyone, she wore nothing that wasn't from Bergdorf's or Bendel's, and she had this entourage of wannabe minions following her every step. It was a nightmare that Sam blamed on that stupid teen girl show _Gossip Girl. _ He fell out of love with the new and improved Quinn. She was snobby, bitchy, and very demanding. That was the girl he broke up with on New Year's and not the Quinnie he knew. But, now all he could do was forget about her and broaden his horizons. Life was way too fucking short to bitch and moan about things that couldn't change. _He_ broke up with _her_ and _he_ needed to move the fuck on with his dating life.

"Well, that's where Lauren says they are," Puck said, knocking Sam out of his thoughts.

"Are you sure?"

"I don't know Evans. Zizes seemed pretty sure."

Sam sighed in resignation. This was where the hard work began. "Alright Puckernman. I'll check it out."

He was about to hang up when Puck shouted one last thing. "Fuck her before the night is over Sammy boy!"

Sam slid the phone into his pocket and gave Mercedes a hopeful grin. "Blue finally has a clue."

"Where're we going?" she asked.

"The Plaza Hotel."

Mercedes's glossy eyes widened with awe. "_The _Plaza Hotel as in Eloise?"

Sam gave her a mischievous smirk. "I'm pretty sure there's only one Plaza Hotel," was his quick and clever response.

She sneered jokingly at him. "Ha. Ha. Blondie."

Sam let out a chuckle. He threw his hand in the air as a cab drove past them. The taxi came to a sudden stop and he slid into the dark car. Mercedes got in after, slamming the door behind her.

She was sitting dangerously close to him, which gave Sam a full view of the short girl's ample chest. Her tits were huge and she showed it off by wearing a low cut black shirt. His mouth watered at the sight of her boobs slightly jiggling as the car sped away. God, he had to have her! He must've been staring for a little too long with his tongue hanging out because Mercedes finally cleared her throat. She slid to the other window and gave him a knowing smirk.

"Take a picture Blondie. It'll last longer."


	5. Chapter 5

Happy November! Sorry for the delay. There's been a lot going on with college prep stuff and I just applied to my first college! Also, I did a lot of revisions with this chapter to add some Mercedes back story leading up the New York trip. Sam got his turn last chapter and now it's all Mercedes with a bit on teen angst, of course! In my opinion, this is where this story starts getting good. You'll just have to read on to see.

As always, I would like to thank the people who took five seconds of their life to review Chapter 4:

**kluvssamcedes**

**zeejack**

**Jadziwine **

**jollyrancher-25**

**erchills **

**missjuicysarai**

**dorknhime**

**gurlchocolate**

**shanti-noel03**

**Kimpa7809**

**MCAlovessamcedes7**

**Box5angel**

* * *

Five 

The Plaza Hotel

768 Fifth Avenue

Upper East Side

* * *

"Oh my God," Mercedes whispered. She couldn't help but gawk in awe as she and Sam strolled into the brightly lit lobby of The Plaza Hotel. She couldn't believe it. Places like this didn't exist back home in Lima. The fanciest hotel in Lima was the Econo Lodge off the freeway with the indoor pool, fitness center, and the prostitution ring nearby. Yet, this place was no Econo Lodge with cheap hookers doing their thing out back. This place pretty much oozed opulence. The two were greeted by a massive Baccarat crystal chandelier that could easily light half of Manhattan and a large expanse of glossy marble floors.

She and the rest of Glee Club knew of Manhattan's most famous hotel. On their first full day in New York, the group caught a small glimpse of the hotel as they explored the huge Apple Store across the street. Santana Lopez and Brittany Pierce were tempted to cross the crowded street and claw their way through the glitterati of the Plaza but were whisked away by Miss Pillsbury to the iPad section.

The Plaza was actually the Glee Club's first choice when it came to a place to stay, thanks to the encouragement of none other than Rachel Berry. It was the brunette's idea for the group to stay at The Plaza throughout the Christmas vacation trip. It was probably the first time that everyone else in Glee Club actually agreed one hundred percent with Miss Bossy Pants.

Their jaws practically hit the floor when Rachel, famously persistent and meticulous, gave a PowerPoint presentation of the hotel during a Glee Club meeting. Even Santana, the resident bitch, was ready to pack her bags pronto. But, the seven hundred dollar a night price tag was more than enough for everyone to revert back to disagreeing with the brunette. The group was more than satisfied with The Morningside Inn, which was still better than any Econo Lodge.

"Your tourist is showing," Sam purred, dragging the awestruck Mercedes back to reality. He was staring intently at her, his green eyes squinting with amusement. He seemed much more interested in her than the beauty of The Plaza. The way he looked at her made her stomach do Olympic worthy summersaults.

Mortified, Mercedes shot him a quick glare as he shook his head at her, his trademark smirk playing on his lips. Those perfectly moist lips were large, cherry red, and looked especially juicy. She wanted to slap herself as her dark brown eyes ogled his lips. This guy was helping her find Rachel and The Cosmic Slices, even though he wasn't doing such a good job so far.

Of course, he was wickedly cute and she couldn't help but imagine what godliness lied under his skimpy cotton sweater. Actually, she caught a sneak peak of what wonders was under the sweater. It was a simple white v-neck that hung perfectly low to show off a small slice of his beefy pale chest. God, Blondie was such a tease. But, that was SO not the point.

Besides, she was a good girl and good girls didn't lose their V cards to a one night screw. Well, that depends on who you ask. If you asked anyone in Glee Club, Mercedes was the textbook definition of a good girl. But, if asked any clueless and gossiping McKinley student, she was anything but a good girl.

Because of her ex-beau Shane Tinsley, Mercedes was tagged McKinley High School's _easiest_ girl, even though she'd never even sipped wine. Hell, running around New York City with a near stranger trying to find a drunken Rachel and a horny indie rocker was, by far, the craziest thing she'd ever done in her whole entire life.

_The exorcism of Mercedes's reputation started on one of her dates with Shane. They hadn't been on a date for a few weeks with football games and Glee Club getting in the way. Shane decided to surprise Mercedes with a date to La Chez de Moulin, an upscale French Restaurant in downtown Lima. He pulled some strings and got a last minute reservation on a busy Saturday night. Usually their usual date night consisted of watching Monday night football at Breadstix. Scoring those reservations was Shane's way of saying sorry for not only ignoring her because of his hectic football schedule but missing their six monthiversary, or that's what Mercedes initially thought. _

_Shane told her to wear something nice. Mercedes assumed he said this because her usual ensemble of jeggings, studded boots, and a fedora wasn't going to cut it at a snooty place like La Chez. So, she decided on a slinky black dress with a ruffled hem and her trusty suede purple heels. _

_They enjoyed a nice dinner on the outside patio of the restaurant. The food was delicious, the service superb, and Shane even convinced their waiter to give them two flutes of champagne to toast their belated six monthiversary. The supposed icing on their romantic evening was a rectangular black box, complete with a white bow that Shane pulled out of his pocket and slid it across the linen clad table. _

_Surprised, the Diva looked up at her boyfriend, who had a large, expecting smile on his pudgy face. Like a little girl at Christmas, she excitedly clapped her hands. _

_Was it the purple studded earrings that she had been hinting for? _

_She eagerly undid the silk bow and opened the box, expecting to see two shining pairs of earrings staring back at her. Her bright smile faltered and turned into a frown. Instead of earrings, she was staring at a hotel room key from the sleazy Econo Lodge off the freeway. _

_She glared at Shane and that stupid, pervy grin on his face. He had set her up! _

_The French restaurant, the candlelit dinner, him pulling out her seat for her, and the roses that he greeted her with at her door, now made sense to her. All he wanted was to get all balls deep with her in a sleazy hotel room. _

_He knew that she wasn't ready to have sex. They'd had this talk too many times to even count. But, he was always pushy and impatient. _

"_So…you in?" Shane asked as if he were talking to one of his boys. _

_Mercedes angrily threw down her linen napkin and jerked her chair back. She grabbed her purple clutch and wordlessly started for the door. Who did he think she was? Some floozy who could easily be wined, dined, and grinded all in one night? _

_Even if she was ready to go all the way, she was way too classy to bump and grind with hookers and druggies in the courtyard below them. Shane and his cheap ass could've at least paid a little extra for a real hotel room and then maybe, just maybe, she would've forked over the goods. _

"_Where do you think you're going?" Shane called after her, getting up from his seat. _

_This was when, the other restaurant guests turned to look at them. They were in luck. They were getting dinner and a show. _

_He pulled her arm back and she jerked it away. _

"_Who do you think I am? Some easily bought tramp? I'm not Twinkies Shane" Mercedes snapped. _

"_So I do all of this for you and this is the thanks I get?" Shane scoffed sarcastically. _

_Trying her hardest to keep herself from being seen as a ghetto bitch, Mercedes gave her soon-to-be-ex a small scowl instead. _

"_If you want something for the flowers, the dinner, the champagne, and your time, you're in luck."_

_The Diva took a step forth, opened her clutch, and threw a fifty dollar bill in his face. "We're through," was her last words to him. _

_That Monday, Mercedes, free of her usual makeup, got out of her Honda CRV. She was dressed in her old purple sweat suit, known as her __**I don't give a fuck outfit**__. For the whole weekend, she holed herself up in her room, nursing her painful breakup with a pint of Ben & Jerry's half baked ice cream and old reruns of Sex and the City. She was the one who broke up with him and he was an epic asshole, but she was a girl and it still hurt like hell. He was her first and only love. _

_She had already taken the steps towards erasing Shane from her life. First, she changed her relationship status to single and kept herself from checking her newsfeed like she usually did. Secondly, she filled a large box with old mementos of her and Shane. Old pictures, love letters, an oversized sweatshirt, and her purple encrusted promise ring (that she sadly had to part with) were all in her trunk. _

_She languidly trotted through the parking lot and walked through the red double doors of McKinley High School. The brightly lit hall was packed with chattering students getting ready for the first period of the day. The minute she walked in, the bustling hall hushed into a few whispers. Two hundred pairs of eyes were on her. Mercedes noticed the sudden change and nervously pushed her way through the crowd. _

"_Whore!" she heard someone cough. There were snickers at the cruel comment and Mercedes quickened her pace. Her locker, even though it was only a few feet away, felt like it was across the Grand Canyon. _

_She didn't know what the fuck was going on until Sugar Motta and Tina Cohen-Chang ran up to her, distressed looks on their faces. Sugar nearly fell flat on her flat ass from running in her new Jimmy Choo heels while Tina nearly slipped from running in her trusty steel toed boots. _

_Sugar skipped her usual cheerful greeting and crossed her hands across her chest. "Is it true?" she asked dubiously. _

"_What's true?" Mercedes retorted. _

"_It's all over Facebook Cedes!" Tina added, a hand on her hip. _

"_Back the fuck up with the vagueness. What are you even talking about?" _

_Tina took an uneasy breath and spilled her guts out. "Shane claims that you slept with Azimio and Matt behind his back! And they admitted it!" _

_Her heart stopped and, right then and there, she could've died. _

"_What?!" _

"_Is it true?" Sugar pressed curiously. _

"_Of course not! He's lying!" _

_Tina let out a sigh of relief and gave Mercedes a meek smile. "I thought so. It didn't seem like you." _

_Her mistake was not checking her Facebook newsfeed. Usually that's where nasty rumors swirl before they hit the halls of McKinley. She could've dispelled the lies before school started, but she was too busy stuffing her face with ice cream. _

_That was it! She was done with guys, even Ben and Jerry. _

_For the two months prior to the Christmas trip, Mercedes's life was a living hell. Her ex- boyfriend ruined her once pristine reputation because she wouldn't put out. The only people who believed her was the members of Glee Club, who knew she'd never even took a puff of a cigarette before. She tried confronting Shane about the rumors, but he and his buddies laughed in her face when she was telling him off, which caused her to storm out crying. _

_She couldn't walk through the halls without an immature football player throwing a handful of Trojan extra-ribbed condoms at her feet. There was this one time when a guy that Mercedes didn't even know existed stopped her during gym. He handed her a plain white shopping bag, a suspicious smirk on his face. From afar, there was this group of boys staring intently at her, trying to stifle their anticipating laughter with straight faces. Mercedes hesitantly pulled out a plush white pillow and stared at it with a confused look. She asked him what the fuck was going on and with a sly grin he said: "I want you to be comfortable for all the time you spend on your back." _

_Mercedes was too scared to doing anything about it. She tried staying home by faking a cold but her parents wouldn't allow for it, especially because her grades were (irony!) too good. She tried telling Principal Figgins, but he claimed there was no evidence to suspend Shane. Unless someone actually saw Shane spreading lies, which was like trying to see someone spread the Flu, then nothing could be done. So, she turned to the one person she knew would never judge her. Tater-Tots. _

_There was one day, three weeks before the Christmas trip, when Mercedes was stuffing her face with the baked goodness that were Tater-tots when her luck changed for the better. She was sitting in the very back of the cafe, away from the view of the other kids, listening to an Etta James song she planned to sing at Glee practice. She felt so alone because not one of her Glee friends had the same lunch period as her. _

_Santana Lopez stormed into the room and to the Diva's table with Brittany Pierce trailing behind her. She was on a mission. Santana grabbed the half eaten plate of Tater-tots and threw them into a nearby garbage can. _

"_Hey!" Mercedes protested, pulling her headphones out of her ears. _

"_Why do you let those putos get to you Cedes?" Santana demanded. _

_Before Mercedes could answer, Santana appointed herself as Mercedes's personal bodyguard with Brittany's company, of course. "You need someone to put those maricones in their fucking places!" was her fiery explanation. _

_And from then on, Mercedes's situation seemed to get better. Santana and Brittany walked her to class, to lunch, to gym, and to her car every single day. No one dared to even look at Mercedes with Santana by her side. The Latina even took it upon herself to teach Shane a lesson by littering the halls with fake test results that claimed he had Chlamydia. Of course, she got suspended but she still was able to snake her way into the New York trip. _

_Humiliated, Shane never talked to or of Mercedes again, not that Mercedes cared. Her mind __was __too focused on whatever magic could happen during her trip to New York. _

Back in the present, she just couldn't waste her time entertaining a guy who couldn't stop drooling over her chest, especially because she kind of had a ticking time limit. Sure, there was something between them that was like an eight hundred pound gorilla in the room but doing _it_ with him was definitely NOT part of the plan. Once again, she was a good girl and good girls didn't lose their V cards to a one night stand. If Shane Tinsley, her last boyfriend of almost a year, couldn't get her to put out, then Blondie had no chance.

She rolled her eyes and gave him a scowl. "Screw you," she spat.

That didn't weaken that large, lopsided smile on his flawless face. Instead, it only intensified it and the bastard gave her a suggestive wink. "When and where sweetheart?" was his clever reply.

Caught off guard, her cheeks burned a fire red with embarrassment. She quickly cleared her throat and regained her diva composure. "Whatever Blondie," she muttered dismissively.

Ignoring his looks, her eyes began to wander. That's when she began to notice the brusque stares she and Sam were getting from the actual hotel guests. Everyone, except she and Sam, was dressed in designer clothing from head to toe. Mercedes easily spotted every big name from Manolo Blahnik to Dolce & Gabana. Compared to these people, she and Sam looked like a bunch of street kids. Her yellow blazer was formerly on clearance at The Ralph Lauren outlet and her high top Nikes were less than a hundred dollars. Blondie looked like a wannabe skater boy with tattered jeans and burgundy Chuck Taylors with fraying shoelaces. They definitely didn't belong and, like the hipster assholes from Arlene's, these people stuck their noses up and made it blatantly obvious.

Mercedes spotted a petite young woman staring intently at her and Sam. The woman was sitting cross legged on a nearby silk loveseat, a copy of The Wall Street Journal in her lap. She blended in well with red-soled Louboutins and a Burberry trench coat. There was a scarf wrapped around her head and a pair of black designer sunglasses covering most of her face. Mercedes didn't know why, but this woman gave her the creeps. The way she watched her and Sam so fixedly was as if she was looking right through them. Her crimson colored lips were pursed in a tight scowl.

The short girl quickly tore her eyes away as she and Sam approached the front desk. She hesitantly turned around once more and the mysterious woman was gone without a trace, the newspaper folded neatly on the chair. Mercedes shrugged off the frightening chill that traveled up her spine. She was exhausted, that was all.

Behind the desk, a rail thin young woman with frizzy black hair and doe-eyed blue eyes greeted them with a warm smile. She was wearing a simple black suit that was way too big on her and looked as if it belonged to a very feminine guy. Her name was Monica, according to the nametag that sat crookedly on her left breast, or lack thereof. It only took one quick glance at Sam for Monica's small fox-like face to become flushed with color. The poor girl began to grin like a lovesick idiot as she nervously tucked a long strand of black hair behind her ear.

_Oh brother. _

"Welcome to the Plaza Hotel. How may I help you?" Monica squeaked anxiously. Her blue eyes were glued on Sam as if he was the only one standing there, maybe in a male g-string if she were the kinky type. Sam gave the girl a toothy grin and Mercedes was sure Monica was going faint by the way her ear-to-ear smile began to falter. Sam seemed unfazed by her fan girl demeanor. He probably got this kind of reaction all the time.

"Have you seen a brunette girl in a black dress and four older boys?" Sam asked.

"One of the boys had small knots showing in his trashy indie jeans," Mercedes added with an eye roll.

At first, Monica ignored Sam's question. She was too busy eye humping him, her eyes drifting from his biceps, to his large red lips, and finally to his disheveled pale blond hair. Apparently, Finn Hudson wasn't the only one who had a fan base.

Mercedes impatiently slammed her hand on the service bell that sat on the mahogany desk. Frightened, Monica jumped slightly, dragged out of an oncoming eyegasm.

"Oh yes…a group like that checked in about an hour ago," she stammered. She tried her best to make eye contact without bursting into a nervous sweat.

He leaned in closer. "Can you tell me what room number?" Sam asked softly. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively that made Monica giggle like a schoolgirl.

"It's against hotel policy but I can let you slide right through…" Monica swallowed. Mercedes couldn't help but crack up. That girl just barely caught herself from saying something uber embarrassing.

Monica turned to her computer and typed quickly with her bony fingers. Within seconds, she gave them an answer. "They booked the presidential suite under a… Burt Hummel."

"Great," replied Sam with a thankful smile. He gave Monica a quick "thank you" and he sped off towards the elevators. Mercedes trailed behind him, a confused look on her face.

"Who's Burt Hummel?" she wondered.

She followed Sam into a gold plated elevator. "Finn's Wall Street CEO Stepdad," Sam replied.

Before Mercedes could ask any more questions, Sam explained that Finn loathed his cocksucker Stepdad because he was the reason Finn lost his multimillion dollar trust fund. Burt Hummel was the one who convinced Finn's mother to cut Finn off after he was arrested and kicked out of Dartmouth. According to Sam, Finn was known to pry his way through Burt's vast amount of wealth by pulling stupid stunts like this. Once, Finn faked a really bad cocaine addiction so that Burt, out of guilt, paid thousands to send Finn to one of the best and most expensive rehab centers on the East Coast.

Mercedes shook her head in disbelief as the elevator carried them up to the top floor. Finn was not only hot but a conniving asshole. "That's fucked up."

"He's a fucking badass," Sam added. The elevator came to a calm stop and the doors parted, letting them through. Like the lobby, the long hallway was brightly lit and smelt of freshly picked flowers. The walls were a soft cream color and the floor was covered in a never ending maroon Persian rug. They walked through the deserted corridor until they reached the double door entrance of the presidential suite. Surprisingly, the door was somewhat ajar and the yellow glow of the room spilled onto the maroon carpet. There was no ruckus coming for inside and the two teenagers exchanged a hopeful look.

Mercedes pushed the door open and hesitantly wandered inside, followed by Sam. The presidential suite was enormous in size and looked very old money vintage with its classic silk furniture, crystal chandelier, and ivory colored carpet. Yet, she gasped because that what Mercedes imagined that it used to look like. The place was completely trashed and ransacked from ceiling to floor. It was like stepping into the remnants of an end of the world celebration. The white carpet was ruined with broken vodka bottles, crushed beer cans, half finished cigarettes, and large irregular shaped stains. There were chairs upturned, their cushions ripped to shreds. The walls were splattered with food, pools of ketchup and mustard slowly trickling down the once pristine walls.

Mercedes nearly fainted, holding onto Sam's rock hard shoulder for support, at the sight of a Trojan extra large condom wrapper and a pair of white cotton panties that sat innocently beside it.

"Holy shit," Mercedes managed to say.

Rachel and Finn, the object of her fantasies, had sex! This wasn't the secret show at all. This was an opportunity for Finn to fuck yet another groupie while racking up a hefty hotel damages bill under his stepdad's name. Her blood began to boil.

Despite her and Rachel sharing a mutual hatred for each other, Mercedes wanted to fucking claw that man whore's eyes out with her long manicured fingers. How dare that cunt face take advantage of a drunken Rachel? Sure, she looked like a cocktease in that God forsaken dress but that didn't really matter. As far as Mercedes was concerned, Finn Hudson was going to be a dead man with those knots turned inside out.

"Let's get out of here before shit goes down," Sam offered. He started for the door, dragging a stunned and shaking Mercedes along.

"We'll find him and then you could knock his teeth in," the blond assured as he closed the door behind him.

"You better fucking belie…" Mercedes started. But, she was quickly interrupted by someone else.

"Hey!" a deep and intimidating voice suddenly shouted. The duo quickly whipped their heads around and was greeted by the sight of a burly bald man, clad in a security guard uniform, racing towards them. His boisterous and violent steps shook the floor. If this guy got his hands on them, they were definitely going to be blamed for the trashed hotel room. Mercedes wasn't about to go to jail, not after all the shit she was going to face when she got back to the Morningside Inn. Plus, she couldn't let poor Sam go to jail either, especially not with that body. He'd be a quick favorite amongst the other guys.

Sam grabbed the short girl's hand. "Let's go!" he cried. Mercedes could barely keep up as Sam ran at a track star's speed towards the elevator. He slammed his fingers against the down button, cursing aloud with every nano second that passed. The security guard was inches from grabbing Sam by his hood when the elevator swiftly opened. The pair slipped inside, hands still clasped.

"Fuck you," Mercedes spat as the door closed in the man's face. She gave him a sly smirk and a middle finger. She let out a small sigh of relief and wiggled her hand from Sam's grasp.

"Well looks like someone's a bad girl," Sam replied. He raised an eyebrow with curiosity.

"I have my moments."

Sam deviously wiggled his eyebrows. "Will I have the honor of witnessing one of those moments?"

"Do you always have something smart to say?" she retorted

The blond wasn't going down without a fight. "Do you have to wear tight jeans like that?" was his quick rebuttal.

Mercedes watched as his gaze drifted to her skin tight acid washed skinny jeans. His menacing gaze made her feel as if she were standing in front of him with only her underwear on, maybe not even that. The short girl racked her brain for a witty retort but settled for a measly "shut up."

His terrible green eyes were stuck in that stupid gaze. He wasn't smiling and that ridiculous smirk was nonexistent. Without warning, he leaned in and Mercedes could feel her breath sucking in. The bastard was going to kiss her! She was sure of it. She so badly wanted to diss him by shielding her lips with her small hands. Yet, her diva attitude seemed to falter as those cherry red lips inched closer.

_Oh fuck!_

Those lips probably tasted like cherries.

She hated herself as she puckered her lips in anticipation for his kiss. He was going to kiss her with those freak of nature lips!

As if on cue, the elevator doors opened and they returned to the bustle of the hotel lobby. He wordlessly laced his long fingers through hers. She quietly watched her hand entwined with his. Her fingers tingled as she undoubtedly felt the sparks reverberating through her body. A tsunami of butterflies began to fly wildly in the pit of her stomach. If she felt fireworks just by just holding his hand, imagine doing anything else! She'd die before even reaching first base.

There was more to this guy than Mercedes was willing to admit. Sure, he was a smart mouthed asshole who made his horniness a clear fact. But, she found herself admiring him more than hating him and his cheeky remarks.

"Whatever you want," she whispered, smiling at him. She told herself that she hated guys, but, damn, she was doing a bad job believing it.


	6. Chapter 6

Hey guys! This chapter doesn't have much action compared to the last chapter, but I believe it's probably the cheekiest chapter of the series. This is probably where the M rating starts making a presence (wink wink). Plus, for any Kurt and Blaine lovers, guess what? They make an appearance in this chapter! As always, I would like to thank the people who reviewed, marked this story and myself as a favorite, followed, and read my story. I'm going to keep it up! They are always welcome.

* * *

Six

The MET

6 East 82nd Street

Upper East Side

* * *

"I popped your Starbucks cherry," Sam announced with a sly smirk. He gave Mercedes a wink as he took a sip of his coffee. The blond stifled a laugh at the sight of her trying to hide her mortification with her trademark diva facial expression, poised with a tinge of mystery.

"You're such a dirty flirt," she said. Sam wasn't going to front, he was a massive flirt. It was totally cocky to say, but it was easy to flirt with girls because he was easy on the eyes.

They didn't find the sex kitten, the wannabe indie God, and his loser posse. It really bugged him that once again he didn't find the secret show but Sam didn't really give a rat's ass. It meant that he could spend even more time with Mercedes. It was almost two in the morning and he had school in a few hours but if it took all night and day to find her friend, he'd stay every second.

"The only cherry in this equation is the color of your freak of nature mouth," Mercedes fired back.

The blond gave her an overly dramatic sad face like the girl slashed his puppy with a three inch hunting knife. He was unfazed with the whole "freak of nature" mouth shit. He'd gotten used to the petty jabs and teasing that his lips got him through the years. Mercedes gave him a small giggle at the way he stuck out his bottom lip into a pout.

"What can I say? My plastic surgeon fucked up my Botox," answered Sam with a laugh.

She knocked him lightly with her elbow and said, "You're too much!"

"I still can't believe that you've never had Starbucks before," Sam replied, changing the subject.

After they dashed out of The Plaza Hotel with the hotel's manager chasing after them, the pair walked down a crowded Madison Avenue. There, Sam spotted a busy 24 hour Starbucks and suddenly had a keen appetite for a tall cup of black coffee and a blueberry scone with cream cheese filling, his usual order. Like any New Yorker, the blond appreciated a good cup of coffee at any hour of the day. There were times when he ventured out at night to get his late night coffee fix. He was addicted to coffee and a good roll of grass to go with it.

Sam nearly fell over when Mercedes admitted that she never had Starbucks Coffee. Apparently, the world famous chain didn't exist among the cornfields and tractors of Lima, Ohio. He pretty much forced the short girl to Starbucks, dragging her by the arm. He wasn't taking no for answer.

"_You're nobody if you don't have Starbucks!" Sam cried. _

"_Gee thanks," Mercedes retorted with an eye roll. "Besides, I'm not into coffee." _

"_Well, you better caffeine up because it's going to be a long night." _

"Well now I'm a somebody," Mercedes answered.

The two were perched on the top marble steps of The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Sam noticed their knees were lightly touching and smiled at the sight. He'd known this girl for about only four hours and he honestly liked her, a lot. For one, she was ridiculously gorgeous with rollercoaster curves that could go on for days, even months. Plus, he loved the way she would give him this annoyed look while her lips curled into a half smirk whenever he threw a dirty joke or two her way. He knew that deep down inside she liked it, maybe even loved it. She would've kicked his ass to the curb hours ago if she didn't. She was no Quinn Fabray with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a rock hard body. But, she easily surpassed Q in more ways than one. He could actually laugh and be himself around Mercedes, dirty jokes and all.

It was always a buzz kill whenever he had to stifle a good joke because Quinn couldn't stop talking about a stupid party or a dress at Sak's that she nearly died to get. Quinn would always scold him for, as she would say, letting his dork side bleed through his golden boy façade. She couldn't be seen with a dork. Unlike Quinn or any other Upper East Side princess, this girl kept him on his toes. With her, his New Year's breakup didn't even cross his mind once.

As Mercedes drank her hot chocolate, Sam silently cursed at himself. The longer he stared, the more he felt like the biggest idiot in the world. He should've done it instead of chickening out. He was a freaking pussy. He had the perfect opportunity in the Plaza Hotel's elevator. They were standing dangerously close to each other and her lips were only a couple of inches away. He was going to kiss her and lightly suck on her bottom lip. Yet, he couldn't muster up the courage to, which was ironic because he knew that he came off as an over confident smart alec. Instead, he opted to whisper in her ear like a jackass. He pretty much cockblocked himself, if that made any sense.

With resignation, he watched intently as Mercedes took slow, careful sips of her hot chocolate. He sucked his breath in as his pants tightened at the sight of her pink tongue innocently licking a trickle of whipped cream off of her plump lips. He couldn't take it anymore.

"_Fuckin' look at her!" _the blond thought to himself.

The girl was putting on a show, teasing him with those fucking lips. The worst part was that she probably didn't even know. Her naiveté made it even sexier.

He wanted nothing more than to attack that pretty little mouth of hers, exploring every crevice and contour. He could barely stand it when the short girl would reapply her red lip gloss, which she'd done about ten times that night. He tried his very best to ignore it and avert his eyes. Sometimes he'd pretend to check his phone for a text or missed call just so he wouldn't look. The way she puckered her freshly glossed lips made him want to fucking faint in a lustful heap.

Sam crossed his long legs to hide the boner that was growing in his jeans. He had no choice but to think of his eighty-year-old grandmother stark naked with her saggy tits grazing her kneecaps in order to force his dick to back off and behave. That was his go to thought whenever he got a hard-on with no action coming his way. It worked a hundred percent of the time and saved him from a grueling and painful half hour of blue balls.

"What are you staring at?" Mercedes asked, shaking Sam out of his daydream. His ears perked up at the sound of his crush's soft voice.

"N-Nothing," The blond stammered. From the look on her face, he knew that Mercedes thought that he was full of shit. He quickly searched her face and racked his brain for an adequate excuse for eye fucking the shit out of her. Sam eyed a stray strand of dark hair on her face. He wordlessly ran a shaking finger on her cheek and tucked the strand behind her ear. He could feel Mercedes stiffening at his touch.

They stared at each other for a long time, brown eyes boring into green eyes and vice versa. Neither party dared to break their intense eye staring contest, the kind kids did at lunch with their friends. Sam's hands grew clammy at the realization that this would be a great opportunity to kiss Mercedes. She was right in front of him and it was the perfect chance for him to pull the cheesy romantic comedy move and kiss her in the moonlight of Manhattan.

He slowly cupped her chin with a large pale hand, tenderly running his thumb against the smooth skin of her cheek. There was a lopsided half smile on his face. The blond leaned in and their noses brushed ever so softly. The sparks began to erupt through his body as he felt the short girl's warm breath reddening his cheeks. He moaned at the intoxicating smell of sweet honeysuckle and spicy vanilla that wafted from her neck and clothes.

Here goes nothing. He was finally going to kiss her.

_Buzz! _

Their lips were seconds away from touching and Sam quickly backed away as his pocket abruptly began to vibrate.

"Shit."

He let out a groan and gave Mercedes an apologetic look. He quickly fished his pocket and pulled out his iPhone. The blond rolled his eyes and scoffed. It was a text message from none other than his jerk off best friend, Puckerman. Only Puck could cockblock him without even knowing it. What could possibly be so important that he had to interrupt an intimate moment between Sam and his newest crush? He was on a mission. He needed to kiss her before he'd explode from the tension between them.

_Fuck her yet? _

"Are you serious?" Sam grumbled. He wasn't about to give his best friend a play by play before the play even happened. The blond had much better things to do, like Mercedes. Besides, the conversation could be saved for their morning walk to school. With nimble fingers, Sam quickly typed out his simple response.

_Can't talk jerk off. C U in the AM. _

He carelessly threw his phone back in his pocket and refocused on Mercedes. She looked absolutely ravishing in the warm moonlight. He eagerly licked his lips and once again placed a large hand on her cheek.

"Where were we?"

Their lips barely brushed when a male's voice shouted his name, dragging him out of his reverie.

Once again, Sam reluctantly pulled away as Mercedes bit her lip. "What the fuck," he muttered.

His eyes drifted to the sidewalk and saw Blaine Anderson and Kurt Hummel at the bottom of the steps. They both had cups of coffee in their gloved hands, their cheeks red from the cold. Blaine and Kurt also went to Windsor Day and were in his graduating class. Like Mercedes at her school, Kurt and Blaine were members of Glee Club at Windsor and got a lot of shit because of it. They were probably the only two 'mos at Windsor Day that were openly gay and proud. The couple got a lot of shit because of that too. Sam was surprised to see them out this late. The blond assumed they were spending their last night of freedom going to a gay bar downtown or having a candlelit dinner at an expensive French restaurant. Knowing Kurt's expensive taste, the latter was probably it.

Sam pursed his lips and gave the two boys a half hearted wave. "Hey guys," he greeted through clenched teeth.

"Did we interrupt something?" asked Kurt with a serious look.

"_Hell fucking yeah!" _Sam thought.

"No," he said instead.

"What are you doing out so late?" Blaine wondered curiously. He was wearing a blue and white polka dotted bow tie. The boy seriously had a bow tie fetish and wore a different one each day, never wearing the same one twice.

"Finding The Cosmic Slices," Sam replied sheepishly.

Kurt and Blaine shared a quick glance with Kurt frowning in disapproval.

"You too?" Blaine asked with an amused laugh. "Everyone's looking for them tonight."

"Well good luck Evans. Finn loves a good game of catch me if you can," said Kurt as he rolled his blue eyes. "Although, he's no Leo Dicaprio," he added.

Kurt knew firsthand of Finn's shenanigans because he was Finn's younger stepbrother. Unlike Finn, Kurt fit perfectly into the confines of the Upper East Side. He wore designer clothing from head to the last toe, attended every gala and charity ball in New York City, and spent the summer in the Hamptons like most kids they knew.

The whole stepbrother thing between Kurt and Finn was kind of weird mostly because Kurt once had a huge crush on the older boy. But, that was before they officially became stepbrothers of course. Back in freshman year, Sam would watch as the lovesick Kurt stared lovingly at Finn as the other boy sat with his friends in the café. Those infatuated ogles practically screamed _Butt fuck me please! _

Kurt eventually got over Finn and hooked up with Blaine Anderson, who transferred to Windsor Day from some international academy in Europe.

"You have a new lady friend," Blaine remarked with a polite smile.

Both Kurt and Blaine examined Mercedes as if she were the latest limited edition Armani suit.

"Is that the Ralph Lauren blazer from last year's spring collection?" Kurt asked pointing to Mercedes's yellow jacket.

The short girl instinctively looked down at her jacket and gave Kurt an eager nod. "How'd you know?" she asked.

"Well, let's just say that I'm the fashion encyclopedia," was Kurt's response. He gave Mercedes a toothy grin.

After a brief moment, Kurt focused back on Sam. "Well, if you're looking for The Cosmic Whatevers," Kurt started matter-of-factly. "I heard through the grapevine that the drummer and bassist visits this bar in TriBeCa almost every other Saturday."

"Oh yes! I've never actually been to this bar but it's called _Jack's Bar & Grill,_" Blaine added.

"If you ask me, it sounds more like a cheap hole-in-the-wall place with lowlife losers than a music venue. But, with Finn you just never know," Kurt replied with a slight shrug.

There was brief awkward silence between the four, which was broken up by Kurt.

"Well, it looks like you two lovebirds are busy," the small boy said.

Both Sam and Mercedes blushed with embarrassment at that comment.

"We're not together," Mercedes blurted, shifting her feet away from Sam's.

"Yeah Hummel," Sam agreed with a nod.

Kurt rolled his eyes, a knowing smirk on his lips. "Yeah…and I'm Liza Minnelli," he replied in response.

"Well…See you at school Evans," Blaine added with a wave. He pulled Kurt away.

"Thanks for the info guys," Sam replied with a half hearted smile.

"Don't mention it," the boys said in unison as they walked away, Blaine's arm wrapped around Kurt's shoulder.

"Well, we have to find The Cosmic Assholes," Mercedes announced. She got up and skipped down the steps to the concrete street. Noticing that Sam wasn't following her, she whipped her head around and placed a hand on her curvaceous hip.

"Are you coming Blondie?" she demanded impatiently.

Sam rolled his eyes and reluctantly followed behind her. The almost kiss was perfect execution but terrible timing. He cursed like a sailor under his breath.

_Fuck. Shit. Cunt. _

Mercedes stepped into the street and tried to hail a cab, to no success. Ironically, there were barely any cabs around. He walked over and grabbed her hand into his.

"It'll be faster to take the train," Sam suggested. The pair walked hand-in-hand across the street and down the steps into the grubbiness of a typical NYC train station. The blond cracked a smile as Mercedes gave him a grimace at the sight of the deserted station. She looked as if this was going to be the last hour of her life, especially with the smell of piss and garbage invading their nostrils. The place was littered with black gum spots and pieces of old garbage. Sam wasn't going to front. This was probably one of the uglier stations in the city.

"How'd you get around this whole week?" Sam wondered.

"By train but that doesn't mean I like it," Mercedes snapped.

Sam shook his head and grinned. "Well, if you want to live here you better like it unless you like wasting money on cabs," he explained.

Mercedes opened her mouth, ready to shoot a sassy remark in his face. Yet, she stopped dead in her tracks as Sam, like a total badass, took one swift hop over the turnstile. Baffled, the short girl shot him an _Are you dead serious? _look. Obviously, Miss Tourist of the Year never jumped a turnstile.

Mercedes put her hands on her hips, still staring at him in total disbelief. "Really Blondie?" she shouted.

Sam held out a helpful hand and motioned for her to take it. "C'mon Saint Mercy. Do it," he encouraged.

"I can get arrested for that."

"By who? The tough on crime air?" the blond challenged. He made his point by pointing at the empty ticket stand. After all, there was no one there but them and piles of garbage. "It's like they wanted us to," he added, wiggling his eyebrows enticingly.

Incredulous, Mercedes stood there, her lips pursed as she considered Sam's still extended hand. After a minute or two, she rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders.

"Why not?" was her simple remark.

To save herself embarrassment by attempting to climb over, she settled for going under the bar instead. She was way too short to do some track and field hurdle shit.

Sam chuckled and patted her on the back. "Looks who's badass!" he exclaimed as they walked onto the platform. It was deserted, save for the few bums taking refuge of the wooden seats and some people who worked really late.

"Whatevs Blondie."

At her comment, Sam's phone vibrated in his pocket. He rolled his bright green eyes at the sound. At the moment, he and his phone weren't on the best of terms. It was a Facebook notification from some random girl from Saint Celia's that he had no idea he knew. Like he always found super annoying, he was tagged in the picture even though he wasn't in it.

But, he couldn't help but laugh at what he saw. It was a picture on his newsfeed of Finn carrying that sex kitten girl, groom and bride style, in his arms as he ran out of The Plaza Hotel's lobby. The sex kitten was giving Finn a playful kiss on his cheek as her arms were wrapped around his neck. She had some ketchup staining her cheeks. The three third wheels followed closely behind, the drummer holding two pink heels in his hand.

Talk about _That's so 22 seconds ago. _Finn was truly a piece of work, especially at the way he could run in a pair of skin tight jeans with ease.

He was going to show Mercedes the picture just to annoy the crap out of her with her whole _I'm gonna kick Finn's horny ass the minute I see him _crusade. But, the girl was engrossed in something else at the way her eyes were fixed confusedly at the platform across the tracks.

Sam softly tapped her on the shoulder as a train on the opposite track zoomed into the opposite track. It stopped for five seconds, picked up speed, and disappeared within a flash. She jumped at least half a foot at his touch.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh nothing," Mercedes dismissed with a swat of her hand.

Knowing her, Sam knew that she wasn't about to dull her tough girl shine despite the nervous look etched on her face.

Instead, she took one step to Sam and wordlessly grabbed tufts of his navy blue hoodie. Before the blond could blink, she stepped on her tippy toes and pressed her glossed lips against his. At first, Sam was caught off guard but he quickly snaked his hands around her waist, electrified by her touch.

It was as if their mouths were made perfectly for each other, every curve and crevice melting flawlessly together. He pulled her to his body, closing the already tiny gap between them. He nearly fell apart as Mercedes began to graze his bottom lip with her teeth. The short girl tried to stifle her girly giggle as she did. She was such a tease and she knew it turned him on.

She abruptly pulled away, leaving Sam shaken and starry eyed. He softly and absentmindedly brushed his fingers on his wet lips, the taste of Raspberry lip gloss staining them. DSL or not, those lips were amazing and made his knees like jelly when they were pressed against his. He shifted uncomfortably as his jeans tightened. He groaned. This was the worst possible moment to get a stiffy.

"You seem like you needed help Sammy boy making the move," Mercedes said with a laugh. "You're friend seems to like it too," she added with another giggle.

Sam's cheeks burned a bright pink and he gave her a curt thank you. She just stole his man card and burned it in one move.


	7. Chapter 7

Seven

Jack's Bar & Grill

Corner of Duane & Church

TriBeCa

* * *

_The Subway platform was quiet and deserted, except for a couple of bums and a few regular people. Mercedes bit her lip as she looked longingly at Sam. Sure, he annoyed the fuck out of her with his smart mouth and dirty jokes. But in a weird way, he was super adorable and she almost pissed her pants when he attempted to kiss her, not once but twice. Then and there, Mercedes decided that she would finally put on her big girl panties and kiss Sam herself. After all, this was 2012 and girls were very well allowed to make the first move, even if it wasn't the first. She wanted nothing to do with guys, but Sam was the only exception. _

_Suddenly, she froze as she spotted a mysterious figure across the tracks through the corner of her eyes. The sound of heels clicking against concrete disturbed the pin drop silence and compelled Mercedes to sneak a glance. The short girl gasped at the sight of long tanned legs clad in those familiar red-soled Louboutins from the Plaza Hotel. There was no mistaking it. It was that creepy woman! Mercedes could swear that the woman looked right at her through those sunglasses, her crimson colored lips pursed in a tight scowl. _

_Before Mercedes could say anything or even blink, there was a flash of gray as a train zoomed past the woman. Within an instant, she was gone, just like that. _

_The diva quickly shrugged her shoulders, shaking off the incident like a piece of lint. She was a small step away from freaking the fuck out with this James Bond meets Jason Bourne shit. There was no way that that woman was following her and Sam. Why would that even be the case? Besides, what would she sound like telling Sam that they were being stalked? Like a psycho and paranoid grockle, that's what! _

_Mercedes heard Sam's soft laugh and jumped at least a foot as she felt Sam abruptly tapping her on the shoulder. _

"_What's wrong?" Sam asked concerned. His iPhone was clasped in his hands. _

"_Oh Nothing," said Mercedes dismissively. She hid her nervousness with a smile. That's when she took one step towards Sam and pulled him close by his sweater. This was what she wanted to do all night and no mysterious wannabe stalker would get in the way. It was just an innocent kiss was what Mercedes told herself over and over. Yeah, she wasn't the type of girl to cozy up to a guy she barely knew, especially after the whole Shane debacle. Yet, it didn't mean that she was heads over heels in love with the blond, or that she was an easy tramp like Rachel. Besides, it was one night, five more hours and she would be gone from New York. Forever. Life was way too short to not live in the moment._

_She gasped at the intoxicating smell of Irish Spring and cigarettes coming from the blond. It was an odd and rugged mix but she somehow loved it. It fit the Sex God very well. Now, all she needed were those freak of nature lips…_

"God! You New Yorkers love to stare," Mercedes breathed as she and Sam climbed the steps of the gritty train station. She stuffed her hands further into her jacket, her teeth chattering as the duo was met with the increasingly frigid cold. They were on the lively intersection of Duane and Church, the same place that the two gay guys said the bar would be. Sam, ever the gentlemen, had an arm around the short girl's shoulders. He held her close as if he were protecting her from the cold, even though he himself was wearing a skimpy cotton hoodie. Mercedes nestled closer into the crevice of his side. To any outsider, the two looked like an actual couple dealing with a very bad bout of young and stupid love, not that they were complaining.

The blond looked down at her, his cherry lips even redder by the searing cold. His pale eyebrows furrowed in confusion at her statement. "Where is that coming from?" he wondered curiously with a lopsided grin.

In actuality, Mercedes was itching to say something about all the fucking stares she, and sometimes Sam, were getting throughout the whole night so far. It all started with the dirty looks she got from the hipster/indie drones from Arlene's. So what if she wasn't a part of a granola eating, tree hugging, and chain smoking clique, who convinced the whole entire world that they were cool because of their so-called "avant-garde" style, their love for music and movies that no one's never heard of, and their over usage of the word "pretentious." At least she wasn't a person who complained about Global Warming but drove a Toyota SUV anyways. What a mind fuck that was!

Then, it was the members of the social elite who stuck their plastic noses up at her and her thirty dollar, mustard colored Ralph Lauren blazer and multi-colored Nike dunks. Now, it was two college chicks on the train.

_On the train ride to TriBeCa, Mercedes couldn't help but crack a warm smile as Sam's eyes fluttered as he napped. His blond head was nestled snugly on her shoulders, his hands resting in her lap. She found the whole thing absolutely amusing. Wasn't Blondie the one who wanted to "caffeine up" because it was going to be a long night? He fucking dragged her by her collar into Starbucks, buying her bland tasting hot chocolate for five dollars, and there he was, napping on the train. She wanted to wake his ass up by sticking her fingers up his nose. It would've been a funny sight to see but Blondie looked too effing cute when he slept. _

_The train came to another clamorous stop and the only people who stepped on were two girls wearing matching purple NYU Violets pullover sweaters. They were both texting, and, without looking, sat side by side on the opposite side of the train. One of the girls, a petite Asian with horribly dyed platinum hair, looked up and nudged her friend, a statuesque raven haired girl with perfect white girl skin. They both watched intently as a sleeping Sam cuddled closer to Mercedes. And like a bunch of girls in gym class, they began to whisper among themselves as they stared, not so discreetly, at Mercedes._

"_Since when…" the Asian girl started in a loud whisper. _

"_He's way too effin' hot…" her friend added with envious eyes. _

_The diva clenched her jaw and tried her very best to ignore the girls and not get up and slap them into next Tuesday and beyond. When it was their stop, Mercedes lightly tapped Sam awake and the blond lazily lifted his head. _

"_Mmmmm…we're here?" was his reply as he licked his lips. _

"_Yup," the short girl answered. _

_As the two got up from their seats, Mercedes quickly and carefully wiped a small sliver of drool off his stubble laden chin. She then placed a peck on his wet lips._

"_Yum. Cherries," she remarked with a grin as they strolled off the train. She made sure to give the two green-eyed bitches's a smirk that said: Yup, I'm tapping this fine male ass. The look on their faces made her entire night._

Mercedes shrugged her shoulders, biting her tongue. She could just imagine what Sam would say if she told him the story. He'd never stop teasing her for getting all girlfriend defensive when two girls were giving her the stank eye because they were together, even though they weren't "together" together.

"Nowhere," was what the diva decided to say instead.

Sam raised an eyebrow with a smile and said, "Whatever you say Miss Mercy."

"There it is," Sam announced, pointing to a bar across the street with a black and red awning. He grabbed Mercedes's hand and they crossed the busy intersection of Duane and Church.

Sam ushered Mercedes into the dimly lit bar. It was loud with lively chatter, laughter, and clinking beer bottles. The short girl frowned and tugged at the collar of her jacket. She felt that she was going to melt and not in a good way. It was stuffy from the steaming body heat, the smell of cigarettes, and a terrible mix of every tacky cologne known to man. Her hope faltered just a bit at the sight of an old baseball game being played on the flat screen TVs. She couldn't hear any indie music being played, just the sound of a sportscaster screaming as he called a grand slam homerun. But, the two 'mos seemed pretty confident about this one. Two out of the three brolemics in the band came to this nostril hellhole every other weekend. Maybe, the band dropped by to continue their disappearing act with their so-called fans. Mercedes wasn't going to give up just yet and let that dickhead Finn continue to play cat and mouse with her. It may have worked for his many adoring starfuckers but she was going to win by finding him, Rachel, and The Cosmic Dickheads.

She attempted to wriggle her way through the crowd with Sam's guidance, bouncing from one muscular body to another like a pinball. She wanted to scream a sassy "excuse me" to everyone that she passed but it was way too loud for anyone to hear. Plus, she was a little too fun sized for anyone to even glance at her.

The two finally made it to the bar, which was just as crowded but it gave Mercedes a much needed breath of fresh air. The short girl finally got a chance to crane her neck, scanning the area and people around her. The little wrinkle that she got on her forehead whenever she was confused was in full view because this place was swarming with dudes of all shapes and sizes. It was a full blown sausage fest without any muffins in sight. But, naïve Mercedes from the Midwest didn't think anything of it. After all, it was a sports bar and, last time she checked, guys were the ones who would come to a bar to watch sports, especially if their wives or girlfriends didn't allow it at home. All the guys she knew back home in Lima were diehard sports fans. It couldn't be any different here.

Sam nudged her with his shoulder to get her attention. "Do you want anything?" he politely asked, pointing to the full bar.

"Coke," was her good girl answer.

Sam gave her an incredulous look and cracked a grin. "Would you like some rum with that?" he asked in a teasing fashion.

When the serious look on the short girl's face didn't falter, he gave her an encouraging nod and shouted," C'mon Saint Mercy. Just one drink on me." He wiggled his eyebrows, that trademark GQ smile on his face.

"Aren't they going to card you?" Mercedes challenged matter-of-factly.

Sam nonchalantly reached into his pocket and handed Mercedes his driver's license. "Not with this," he announced with a triumphant grin.

Unlike most people she knew, Sam was actually smiling in his picture, his hair perfectly messy and those lips plump as ever. Almost everyone on the planet had a license picture that looked as if it belonged in a line up to a murder and she was no different, except she looked like a crack head hobo.

Her first picture looked so horrible; with a rat's nest she called a weave and not one speck of makeup on that she "accidently" lost it on a weekend trip to the mall with friends. Of course, she got a fierce tongue lashing from her parents for being irresponsible but, to Mercedes, it was totally worth her using her pseudo guilt look. She took the time to meticulously do her hair and makeup while still maintaining the I-just-got-out-of-bed-and-still-look-this-good look that she obviously screwed up the first time.

On another note, she nearly laughed at how ridiculously unbelievable his fake age was. According to this, he was a whooping twenty-four years old and she was total jailbait being seen with him. God, Sam seemed like he was a sucker for breaking the law. He was such a risk taker and sort of a dare devil, the complete of opposite of her. She was that girl who made slumber parties boring by answering "truth" all the time when playing truth or dare. But, Sam the Blond Sex God brought out the badass inside of her.

But, she nearly burst out into a rage of giggles at his alias name. Was this boy completely shitfaced when he picked it out? Couldn't he have picked a name a bit more boring or less obvious to anyone who didn't live in a cave?

She gave Sam an eyebrow raise, hardly able to contain her chuckles. "Steve Rodgers?"

But, Sam just smiled ear-to-ear with a look of satisfaction glimmering in his eyes. "Cool huh?"

"Seriously Sam? Captain America?" Mercedes asked incredulously. She couldn't decide what was funnier, Sam's complete lack of maturity or the fact that he was a supposed comic book geek, except without the bad acne or clothes picked out by a way too motherly mother. It was weird to think that someone as hot and popular as Sam was into Captain America and The Avengers. Mercedes babysat a kid on her street who was an avid comic book reader. But, unlike Sam, the kid was ten.

"Do you wear Batman footie pajamas to bed Blondie?" Mercedes replied with a grin as she handed Sam the card.

"Very funny. I just like to read that shit while taking a dump," Sam said with his best Mr. Manly Man scoff. "Besides, it's common knowledge that Batman is DC and not Marvel," he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Whatever Grandpa," she replied sarcastically with a knowing smirk. While Sam tried to get the busy bartender to notice him, Mercedes returned to scoping the crowded room for any sign of Berry or a girl in general. To her disappointment, there was still nothing but boys, boys, and more boys. The girls from Glee Club would've certainly loved this.

Mercedes tapped Sam and said in a frustrated voice, "There aren't any girls here."

Sam took a quick glance of the bar and said, "Yeah there is. Over there."

He pointed to a secluded booth in the very back. There sat a fashionably dressed girl with an Apple Martini clasped in her large hands. Her face was caked with makeup, from fake eyelashes galore to shiny pink lips that could second a mirror. She had long glossy black Pocahontas hair that ran to her waist. The girl looked like a typical Barbie doll with a pretty heart-shaped face, a just-came-from-an-exotic-island-that-doesn't-even-exist tan, designer duds, and a perfect itty-bitty waist. To anyone, this girl was strikingly beautiful but Mercedes noticed there was something a little off with her.

For starters, her shoulders were a little too broad for that white halter top and was that Adam's apple she saw?

Mercedes quickly refocused her attention on Sam, who was shouting an order to the burly bartender for two beers with a name that Mercedes had never heard of. The Diva was convinced that Mrs. Amazon Rainforest over yonder was not a hundred percent girl. She'd never seen a drag queen before up close, especially not in a conservative and close minded town like Lima.

Before Mercedes could tell Sam about Ms/Mr. America, Sam handed her an ice cold beer with the name Moosehead. He yelled a polite thank you at the bartender, a clichéd Jersey Shore Guido with a Terry the Tiger tan and biceps that made Mercedes's thighs look like twigs. Terry the Tiger nodded in response and gave Sam a discreet and suggestive wink. Sam, with the attention span of a gnat, didn't notice the wink and turned his attention back to Mercedes.

"Two Martinis dah-ling!" Mercedes heard a guy yell to Terry the Tiger from the other side of the bar. It was super weird, but that was when it all made sense! The Cosmic Slices were definitely not here!

There were no anatomically correct girls in the entire place, but her. (Mr. Pocahontas did not count)

The bartender, along with a few guys were ogling her (ahem) Sam.

This was not a music venue and these people were not here to see the band. This was a gay bar!

Sensing Mercedes's tension, Sam eased closer and nudged her, "What's up?" He took a nonchalant swig of his beer, oblivious to his surroundings.

She put down her drink, turning a shade of green by all the looks Sam was getting without even knowing it. She wanted to get the fuck out of there, not because it was a gay bar, but because Sam was being eaten alive by a swarm of gay eyes.

"Let's go!" she demanded in a scowl.

Sam, with confusion etched on his face and the naivety of a child, gently pulled her back. "What? Why? We didn't even find them yet. Plus, the Giants are on."

Mercedes rolled her eyes. He was such a child and a stereotypical guy at the same time.

She jerked his hand towards her, almost spilling his own drink on him. She didn't want to explain her jealousy, so, praying that he was macho man like the other guys she knew back home, yelled, "Sam! This is a gay bar!"

The music and chatter was so loud that he couldn't hear her pleas. The crowd erupted in cheers as Eli Manning threw the game tying touchdown. He motioned for her to say it again. "What?!"

"This is a gay bar!" she repeated louder.

Once again, Sam inched closer. "Speak up! I can't hear you!"

She threw her hands in the air. Was this guy deaf? Maybe it was all the booze going to his head or the fact that he needed to cut his hair.

"God dammit Blondie! THIS IS A GA…"

Mercedes was midsentence, when a guy slinked his way to Sam's side. He was a Zac Efron look-a-like with black hair in a faux hawk, a spray tan in January, blindingly white teeth, and a black v-neck with jeans. Come to think of it, Fake Efron, while nursing a beer, was stealing glances at Sam all night. At first, Mercedes didn't think much of it. But, now, she wanted that guy to spontaneously combust in flames.

She went to grab for the hood of Sam's sweater, but Fake Efron intervened with a conversation.

"I haven't seen you around. You new?" he asked Sam.

He smirked as Sam gave him a polite smile. Blondie had just fallen into his trap. "Yeah I guess."

"You like it?"

Oblivious Sam shrugged his shoulders and said, "Yeah. Beer and football. A guy's dream."

"This is a great place to meet people," Fake Efron mused, taking a swig of his Heineken.

"It's definitely a bro hangout." Sam agreed.

There was a small silence and Fake Efron nonchalantly slinked closer. "So…have you seen anyone you like?" he said with a suggestive grin.

Sam shook his head. "Nah. There aren't enough girls here."

He motioned over his shoulder to a steaming Mercedes and continued, "Plus, I have my girl that's a…"

Fake Efron put his hand up, interrupting Sam. "You don't have to hide it"

Sam furrowed his golden eyebrows in confusion, the look that said "_The fuck?" _

"Hide what?"

Fake Efron, like a cheerleader, put a hand on his hip. "I used to be like you…confused…"

Feeling bad for the confused Sam, Mercedes pushed her way into the conversation and glared at her rival. "He doesn't swing that way Fake Efron!"

Unfazed, he stuck his nose up in the air at her. And like a hipster snob, asked, "Who's that?"

"My friend that's a girl." Sam explained innocently.

Fake Efron have Mercedes a quick up-down scan and curtly pursed his lips together. "A fag hag if you ask me," Fake Efron retorted, with a dismissive shrug.

_That's it! _Mercedes thought and she took a step closer and reached to smack the fake tan off of her rival's plastic face, but Sam stepped into her path. With beer in hand, he blocked her from taking a swing at Fake Efron.

"Chill Mercy!"

He turned to Fake Efron, finally piecing the obvious puzzle together. "No way! Are… you…like gay?"

"Um…hello?" he said in a _duh! _tone.

"Sam THIS IS A GAY BAR!" Mercedes clarified.

Embarrassed by his stupidity, Sam put down his beer and was ready to leave. "Um…dude…this isn't my scene," he said apologetically, put his hands up in defense.

"Damn straight!" the Diva added.

Not convinced of Sam's straightness, Fake Efron just rolled his eyes. "Yeah…and I'm RuPaul…"

"Seriously! Boobs are my favorite pastime!" Sam blurted, unknowingly causing a few disgusted stares.

Before Fake Efron could say his rebuttal, Sam wiggled his way through the crowd with Mercedes trailing behind him. She didn't even have a chance to school that motherfucker.

Once they were on the street, Sam let out a sigh of relief. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I did! You're just deaf!" she scoffed defensively

They began walking down Duane and Sam abruptly grabbed Mercedes and pulled her close. She couldn't help but grin at him. He was trying to prove his already obvious masculinity. Blondie was definitely no 'mo. One, He was itching for her all night. And Two, a gay guy wouldn't have kissed her the way Blondie did, tongue, teeth, and everything in between.

"So…how many boobs have you played with Sammy boy?"

"Enough to know I'm not gay!"


	8. Chapter 8

Happy New Year! Here's another chapter to the epic tale of Mercedes and Sam. This is the chapter that changes their relationship! The story is half over and there are eight more planned chapters, give or take. A new and better Samcedes story is in the works! Thanks to the people who review and follow my story. Your enthusiasm and excitement are great motivators.

* * *

Eight

The Warehouse

East Houston Street

The Bowery

* * *

The Warehouse was an underground dubstep nightclub in The Bowery, based in an abandoned warehouse from the 1970s. This was where Sam and Puck spent their weekends instead of going to formal galas and balls on the Upper East Side. He always had a good time getting drunk and dancing with random girls and taking a cab home at four in the morning. Quinn hated The Warehouse because it took up so much of his time. Instead of being at her side in a constricting tuxedo at some gala, he was with Puck in, what Quinn called, a disgusting rat infested hell hole. In fact, he ditched The Metropolitan Museum of Art gala that fall to go to the club. He danced until sunlight in his Armani suit.

Tonight, he wanted to take a break from hide and seek. After leaving the gay bar, Sam received a tip that a drunken girl was seen in Staten Island. There was no way in hell The Cosmic Slices were going to be in Staten Island. It was Staten Island for Goodness sake! It was a little too boring and quiet for Finn's liking. It was safe to say that it was a false tip.

Like always, he sucked at finding the secret show. Plus, he needed to stall a little. He wanted to spend some time with Mercedes on his own terms. The Cosmic Slices could wait and so could her sex kitten friend.

Sam and Mercedes were walking down the heavily populated block, when he pointed to the club. They could hear the loud techno music spilling onto the streets. They made their way to the entrance and could see the erratic blue and white lights pulsating in unpredictable spurts.

"This is it?" Mercedes asked. She looked up at him with fear in her eyes. This was going to be her first rave. He smiled down at her. She was so damned cute. One minute she was this melodramatic diva and, now, she was naïve and shaken.

"Yup!"

He grabbed her hands and laced his fingers through hers. He looked down at her once more and gave her a reassuring grin. "Don't worry. You'll be fine," he promised.

She rolled her eyes and let out an apprehensive sigh. He had yet to see her so nervous. It was either that she wasn't into partying or that they didn't have raves in cornfield country. "Here goes nothing."

They walked into the dimly lit club, pushing through throngs of drunken people. He held her tight so that she wouldn't get lost in the sea of people. They made their way to the crowded bar where a tattooed and pierced bartender was whipping up drinks with fascinating speed. Sam shoved his way to the front and caught the bartender's attention by waving his hands over his shoulders like a maniac. The bartender nodded towards them.

The blond held up two fingers. "Two Gorilla Farts!"

Mercedes slapped him on his back. "What?! I'm not drinking that!"

He smirked at her naivety. "Calm down Mercy. It's just glorified rum and whiskey."

The air was ripe with stale sweat and cigarettes. Sam pulled at the neck of his T-shirt. It was stifling hot due to the enormous body heat radiating throughout the room. The bartender practically threw him the drinks without looking back. Sam handed Mercedes a shot glass that was only barely full.

"Cheers!" he cried, clinking glasses with her. Without a second thought, he cocked his head back and took one large gulp. The acrid liquid burned his throat and he coughed to ease the soreness.

Mercedes wasn't so brazen. She put her nose to the rim of the shot glass and sniffed its contents. She shook her head disapprovingly and jutted her bottom lip out in protest. He patted her back in encouragement.

"Whatever you do…don't sip!" he exclaimed.

She looked at him once more and counted three breaths. On the third and largest breath, she drank the shot in one move. She shook her body and coughed in response. Her face contorted and she stuck her tongue out. He cheered and ruffled her hair with a laugh.

He reached down to her ear, grazing her soft earlobe, and whispered, "Wanna dance?"

He pointed to the dance floor and they both observed the sea of dancing bodies. She paused for a minute and pursed her lips in thought. Then, she shrugged her shoulders and, to his delight, nodded her head.

Sam eyed an unsuspecting couple making out at the bar. There were two glow stick necklaces on top the woman's jacket He reached over and swiped the necklaces, replacing them with him and Mercedes's empty shot glasses.

Sam pulled her by the arm and pushed through the crowd of dancing bodies and onto the dance floor. At first, she stared at him with a shy, half smile. He slid the pink glow stock through her bountiful head of hair and onto her neck. It rested awkwardly on her collarbone. They started slow as he closed the gap between them. Their bodies swayed in unison and then picked up speed to match the tempo of the song. Sam's hands traveled to her hips and then, suddenly feeling impulsive, grabbed her ass. She shooed his hands away and gave him a devilish smirk. She loosened her hair so that it cascaded down her shoulders. She threw her hands over his neck and shook her hips so fast that it left him dizzy. He leaned in and attempted to kiss her, but she put her hands to her lips. Instead, she went onto her tippy toes and nibbled on his ear. He could feel her hot breath reddening his face. She went from shy small town girl to downtown vixen and he liked it.

They danced for what seemed like forever. Mercedes yelled that she was tired and they pushed their way off the dance floor. He was sweating and his bleach blond hair was damp. He pulled off his hoodie and gasped for air. His white V neck clung to him with sweat.

"I need to pee!" Sam cried, pointing towards the bathroom. He needed to take a leak and splash water on his face.

Mercedes followed him through the thick double doors and into a dirty alcove. The bathroom, with a plywood door and makeshift door knob, was across the way, hidden behind a group of punks. They were all smoking and, when the double doors slammed behind Mercedes and Sam, they stopped their conversation and stared intently at them.

A guy with a multi-colored mohawk, who was clad in a motorcycle jacket held together by thick safety pins, tight leather jeans, and scuffed cowboy boots, nodded a greeting to them. His dark eyes were set in a classic punk glare and his lips were jutted out into a sneer. His cigarette was hanging lazily at his lips.

"Sup," he said casually.

"Sup," Sam greeted.

Sam could feel Mercedes digging her fingers into his arm. She was cowering away behind him. He shook his head and stifled a chuckle. Gosh! She was so cute! Poor Mercedes had probably never seen so much badasses in one room, including Sam. The blond was used to freakily dressed people like punks. This was New York after all. You could see a prepster wannabe and punk groupie on the same block.

The punks moved from the bathroom entrance so that Sam could get through. "Wait out here," he told Mercedes.

Mercedes quickly looked over her shoulder and at the silent punks and said, "I won't peek. I promise!"

Before he could say anything, she ushered Sam into the bathroom and locked the door behind them. Sam flicked on the light and they were greeted by the sight of gray graffiti clad walls, a dirty white sink, and a steel industrial toilet. The sound of the techno was muffled against the concrete walls.

He made his way towards the toilet and unzipped his pants, while Mercedes found a corner facing away from Sam.

"Don't peek!" he teased. "I don't need you to see the family jewels!" he drawled with a devilish laugh.

"Or lack thereof," Mercedes retorted, her face still against the wall.

"Touche."

After a minute, he zipped his pants and pressed his sneaker against the toilet handle. The sound of rushing water echoed off the walls.

"Done?"

"Done," he said. He began washing his hands as Mercedes turned around. He quickly flicked his fingers so that speckles of water splashed on her face. He chuckled at the sight of her closing her eyes and reopening them with a glare.

"What now?" Mercedes asked.

Sam didn't answer. He was too busy studying her face like an idiot. He noticed the faint freckle that was below her left eye and that her eyes had tints of light brown in them. They were staring at each other for what seemed like forever. Then, Sam took a silent step forth and Mercedes took two steps back. They continued this cat and mouse until Mercedes was backed against the wall. Sam grinned at the sight of her looking up at him. He placed a hand on the wall and closed the space between them. The blond leaned in and pressed his lips against hers. The kiss deepened as Mercedes placed her hands onto his angular jaw. His fingers slowly tiptoed to her crotch and he didn't move. She suddenly stiffened and slightly jerked away with her hands.

He froze for a second. "Shit," he whispered, breaking the kiss. He licked his lips and moved at least five feet away her, backing against the plywood door. There was a long awkward silence as the Diva's eyes were cast to the dirty concrete floor and as he ran his fingers through his disheveled golden locks.

Mercedes was a virgin. The unmistakable and notorious virgin look was etched on her face. She bit her lips and shuffled her feet with shame. She had been the brazen vixen on the dancefloor and was now the scared little lamb.

He had no intention of taking advantage of her. She meant more to him than that.

"I'm so sorry!"

"Don't be," she paused and looked at him. She bit her nervously. "What if I didn't want it to stop?"

He gave her an incredulous look. Did he hear right? She was a virgin and she wanted to have sex in a bathroom. "What?"

She took a breath and looked down to her feet ashamedly. She was new at this. "I didn't want to stop,"

There was a giddy feeling whirling in his stomach. He shook his head with understanding, trying his best to not smile. "Okay."

He took a step forth and reclaimed his spot in front of her, closing the gap between them. He leaned in and their noses brushed together. He softly and slowly pressed his lips against hers. He could feel her moving into the kiss. Their lips melded into one and were perfect together.

He felt so good kissing her. Her kisses tasted like raspberries and were so sweet and careful. He liked the way she puckered her lips like she was blowing bubbles. The kiss deepened and he wrapped his hands around her waist.

Her hands were cupped on his jaw and she began to slowly slide down to the floor. Without breaking the kiss, he slid down with her and was on top of her. His hands traveled up the fabric of her jeans. He began to feel her up and she softly moaned into the kiss.

Almost coincidentally, the opening verse of I just want to fuck by the Baltimore club began to play. They both giggled simultaneously and they were both kissing each other's teeth.

He reached for the button on her jeans and, with one hand, tried to unbutton it. It wasn't budging. He tried with two hands and couldn't do it. He groaned and let out an exasperated sigh. It was as if he were trying to break a combination lock.

Mercedes noticed his trouble and pulled her lips away. She propped herself on her elbows and gave him a teasing smirk. "Are you new at this?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He gave her a machismo scoff and his famous are you serious right now? look. He didn't want to brag or anything, but he has been around the block a few times. Most of his conquests were due to him and Quinn breaking up. "Um...no!"

He had done this plenty of times, albeit not in a bathroom. He'd never done anything in a bathroom, so it was new and exciting. Her jeans weren't giving way, that was all.

She rolled her eyes and, in one swift move, successfully unbuttoned her jeans.

"Why did you have to buy cockblocking jeans?" he asked cheekily.

"Oh! Shut up!" she retorted with a giggle. He smiled as she blushed furiously. She was so cute. He liked the dimples on her cheeks when she smiled. He liked the glimmer in her eyes when they crinkled as she laughed.

He gently wiggled her out of her jeans. His eyes widened at the sight of her red, frilly underwear. They were very red and very hot. Against her caramel skin, red really tiptoed to the hem of her panties and slowly pulled them down. She closed her eyes and relaxed her muscles. He could hear her drawing in her breath in anticipation.

He began to massage her in a circular position. He started off slow and then picked up speed.

She threw her head back in ecstasy. She was trying to hold back a moan, but failed miserably. He worked his way to her opening and paused.

"It's gonna hurt," he warned. She opened her eyes and blinked at him. She had this frazzled look in her eyes. She nodded her head, signaling that she was ready.

Sam then proceeded to push his fingers through. She was tight and it took awhile to fully get in. He began to pump his fingers and her body shook in unison. She was yelping and yowling, trying to stay quiet, even though no one could hear them. He reached for her lips again and kissed her, drinking zealously from her lips. He finally found her G spot and put pressure on it. She froze and her body immediately stiffened like a mannequin. Then, she shook with pleasure and her breaths grew shallow. Her moans excited him and he continued jamming his fingers on her spot.

"Feels good?" he asked huskily.

She shook her head fervently. "F...fuc...ccc..k!" she cried. She tensed up and stretched her body. She writhed and wiggled, flexing her muscles. She threw her head back and her face contorted. Her lips scrunched together and she squeezed her eyes shut. He continued until she finally gave in. Then, she relaxed and her chest, almost automatically, began to expand and contract.

He pulled his fingers out with a smug grin. He had gotten her to orgasm and it felt good. Her cum was all over his fingers.

She swallowed hard and shook her head. "Woah," she whispered. She stared at him as if it were the first time she looked at him.

"Yeah..."

He wordlessly got up and washed his fingers while she redressed. She ran her fingers through her hair and put on her jacket. They looked at each other and both couldn't tear their eyes away. She was frowning and so was he. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy himself or that he had gotten into her pants. It was that they liked it each other a little too much. They were so into each other and it sucked because they were separating in a few hours. It was more than a one night stand. She was more than just a conquest.

He tried not to think about it until now. He had brought her to the club to stall their search. The minute they found her sex kitten friend, they would both go back to being strangers.

"Let's go," he finally said. They walked out of the bathroom and into the cool air of Manhattan. He grabbed her hand and laced his fingers through hers. Her hands were soft and reminded him of silk. He never believed at love, not to mention like, at first sight. It was something that he saw when his mother watched her cheesy soap operas. And now it was happening...for real.

Maybe, just maybe, if he held on tight and never let go of her hand, they'd be together.

They walked in silence down East Houston Street. They hands were swinging and they were walking so close together that they could trip each other. He didn't want her to go. He wanted to hold her hand and walk forever.

A group of rowdy boys were walking towards them from the other direction. They were all sharing a bottle of Puerto Rican rum, each taking a hearty swig and then passing it. They were shouting and cheering at corny, unfunny jokes. From the corner of his eye, Sam could see that one of the boys, a tall pale boy with a mop of brown hair covered by his snapback hat, was eyeing Mercedes intently. He was wearing baggy jeans and a red letterman jacket, and was walking as if there was a stick up his ass. Sam grimaced at the boy. He was a wannabe Slim Shady.

"Hey shorty!" he yowled drunkenly, gaining Mercedes's interest. The boy motioned for his friends to listen. "What can this white boy do for you?" he yelled, pointing at Sam. He was talking in a fake, displeasing gangsta accent. The blond took an angry step towards the much skinnier boy. He was ready to knock this kid's lights out.

When all she did was stare silently at him, he continued. "I could rock ya world and ya bed shorty!"

His friends erupted in laughter and the boy slapped his knees, laughing like an idiot.

Sam bolted towards the kid and grabbed him by neck of his t-shirt. He had his fist in the air, ready to slam it into the boy's jaw. He didn't really have a mean streak or a short temper. He had only gotten into one fight. It was when a kid had the audacity to call him a pussy.

The boy's friends ran to rescue him from Sam's death grip. Mercedes pulled Sam back by the shoulder. "You should look in the mirror _white boy_," Sam snapped. It only took one glare on Sam's part to get the boys to scatter like flies down the street.

"Someone's overprotective," Mercedes teased, trying to lighten the situation. They continued their slow pace down East Houston.

He blushed furiously at her statement. He'd never felt the feeling of jealousy before. She wasn't even his girlfriend and he was protecting her as if she was. He'd known this girl for only a few hours but there was something about her that kept him on his toes, there was something about her that he couldn't find Quinn or any of the princesses of the Upper East Side, and there was something about her that made him forget about his bad grades, his painful breakup, his nagging mother and father, and his feeling of being shunned by high society. He liked her. He truly liked her and it was devastating that she was leaving him behind in New York.

"Let's get something to eat," Sam suggested, changing the subject. From dancing like crazy, getting to third base, and almost getting into a fight with a rap loser, he had really worked up an appetite.


	9. Chapter 9

Hey guys! I know I updated yesterday, but I wrote this chapter so fast that I needed to update, not that that's a bad thing. This is considered the climax of the story and you can read and find out why. For those who are desperate to know who the mysterious stalker is, you're finally going to find out! In addition, I'm thinking of a sequel. Let me know what you guys think! As always, read and review. Show me some love! On one last note, for those who are wondering, most of the places in the story are made up. I literally look at a map and pick streets. Lol.

* * *

Nine

Billy's Delicatessen

Lafayette Street and Astor Place

Lower East Side

* * *

"I'll have a Reuben with onion rings," Sam said politely to the waiter.

They were eating at Sam's favorite diner. He called it his go to place after a night of partying. It was a cozy place with a 1950s feel, with its red leather booths and checkered linoleum floors. The name was Billy's Delicatessen and, according to Sam, they made the best sandwiches and burgers in the whole city. They were sitting in a secluded booth in the back by the kitchen. There was a framed photo of James Dean and Marilyn Monroe on the wall above them. They were the only ones in the diner.

The waiter jotted down Sam's order on his notepad and then turned to Mercedes. He was tall, lanky, with greasy black hair and large pointed nose. "What are you having miss?" he asked. He spoke in a thick foreign accent, the kind of accent that was ambiguous and hard to figure out. He looked tired and uninterested, but he looked as if he was faking a little interest in hope of getting a good tip. The poor guy was probably tired and wasted from the worst job known to man.

Mercedes glanced at the menu once more and pursed her lips in thought. She didn't know what she wanted. There was a shrimp dish that she liked and oogled, but moved on because of its hefty price. Sam insisted that she get anything she wanted because he was treating her, but she didn't want to rack up a bill, especially on something like food. She wasn't dying of hunger like Sam apparently was, but felt a little peckish since she hadn't eaten since eight last night. After mulling over the menu and flipping a few pages, she decided on a plain burger with curly fries.

"I'll have a burger with curly fries," she replied. She closed her menu and gave the waiter an amicable half grin.

The waiter jotted down her order and flashed them a smile. It was an awkward, lopsided grin that looked forced. He turned to leave and made his way to the kitchen.

"You're the first girl I've met who actually orders real food," Sam mused, taking a sip of his Sprite. He had his hand cupped on his cheek and gave her a dreamy GQ smile. His deep blue eyes glimmered and it made her weak in the knees.

Mercedes didn't know whether or not it was an insult or a compliment. Was he saying that she was fat? Or was he saying that she wasn't another anorexic Barbie doll who ordered nothing but salads and water? She decided on the latter. Sam wasn't the mean type. Plus, he was so into her that he wouldn't dare insult her.

"Thanks."

"It's really hot."

Her cheeks burned at his statement. He thought she was hot. Sam the Sex God thought she was hot, even though she didn't look like a supermodel. He was the first guy who thought she was more than pretty. Shane called her pretty and, sometimes when he wanted something, he would call her beautiful, but never hot. She wanted to squeal and do backflips, but gave him a smile instead.

"Really?" she asked shyly. Sam just knew how to make her blush. She wasn't as much as a diva around him.

"Definitely!"

He took another sip of his soda and winked at her. "I've never asked...but do you have a boyfriend?" he asked curiously.

"Had a boyfriend."

He raised an eyebrow and leaned closer as if she was telling him a juicy secret. "What happened?"

She let out a sigh and rolled her eyes. She told him the whole story of her and Shane, everything from the sex rumor to Santana's cruel prank. She watched as a look of shock overtook his face and the way he kept clenching his jaw as if he knew Shane.

"What an epic asshole!" Sam cried, slamming the table. Mercedes nodded her head silently. She needed to change the subject.

"How many girlfriends have you had?"

Sam suddenly frowned and looked down to his lap. "One."

She blinked at him incredulously. There was no way Sam the Sex God only had one girlfriend. He looked uncomfortable about the topic. Mercedes assumed it was a heartbreak. Guys weren't as cold hearted as they tried to seem. "It's true. But, we broke up."

Sam told her the story of the New Year's breakup and her jaw dropped with shock. What a bad way to break up! She didn't know how she felt about being the rebound girl, but she dismissed the nagging feeling tugging at her. After all, she was kind of on the rebound too with everything that happened with Shane. They were both on the rebound and at least they found each other.

The waiter came back and placed a plate that consisted of a humungous burger and a large portion of curly fries in front of her. Sam squirted a healthy serving of ketchup on his onion rings. He unwrapped his napkin and placed it on his lap. Mercedes munched on a few fries while Sam took a big bite of his sandwich. They ate in silence for a while. It was relatively silent, except for the chewing of food and the faint Rockabilly music that played from an authentic jukebox by the bar.

"What are you thinking about?" Sam asked, breaking the extremely awkward silence.

"I dunno. What are you thinking about?" she rebutted, shrugging her shoulders.

They stared at each other and Sam gave her a meek smile. "You."

He reached over and ran his thumb over the side of her mouth. He then brushed a lone strand of hair out of her face. Her face tingled at his touch and, in slow motion, he snuggled back into his side of the booth. He wiped his hands on his napkin.

"You had ketchup on you lip," he explained. He did a wiping motion on his lip.

She didn't know whether or not she was more embarrassed by the fact that she wanted faint or that she had ketchup on her lip.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

Mercedes wiped her fingers with her napkin and slid out of the booth. She needed to check her hair and lip gloss. "I need to go to the restroom."

Sam gave her a smile as she turned to leave. "I'll be here," he called.

The bathroom was red and white, with pictures of old Hollywood actors and actresses littering the walls. It smelled like fresh lilacs and was a far cry from the bathroom where she had her first sexual experience. She washed her hands and studied herself in the mirror. She ran her fingers through her bangs and applied an even layer of gloss on her slightly chapped lips.

She smiled giddily at herself. This was undoubtedly the best night of her inherently short teenaged life. Although she was going to get her ass handed to her by Mr. Shue, she met the best guy ever. Sam was crass, vulgar, and had a really smart mouth. Yet, he was really sweet under his macho exterior, not to mention he was really hot. She wanted to thank Rachel for getting ridiculously drunk and making a fool out of herself when she finally found her. Without her, she and Sam would've never met. It was crazy that she was falling hard for a guy that she barely knew.

She couldn't help but think of the inevitable. It was almost four thirty and she and Rachel had to be at Penn Station by seven thirty. There were only three hours left and she was leaving New York and Sam behind. She didn't know what she was going to do about the whole liking Sam thing. They were going to be hundreds of miles apart and she was going to miss him. They could always Skype, but it wouldn't be the same as holding his hands and letting him caress her fingers. She was just going to try to make the best of the rest of their time together.

She gave herself a final once over in the mirror and, once satisfied, left the bathroom. She was naively humming the opening verse of Human Nature, when she stopped dead in her tracks.

She stopped before she made the turn and slid out of sight, clutching to the wall.

Mercedes nearly fainted at the sight of her stalker walking into the restaurant. The stalker unwrapped the headscarf and blonde curls cascaded down her back. Her red lips were knitted into a frown and her hazel eyes were set in a death glare. She was beyond gorgeous and looked like a supermodel. She opened her mouth and began to scream at Sam.

"Who is she?!" the girl cried.

He got up and began to talk to her. He put his hands on her shoulders to calm her down. Mercedes inched away from the little corner, in order to hear the commotion.

"Calm down!"

The stalker jerked away and grabbed him by his jacket. It looked like she was pleading with him. He shook his head and broke free from her grasp. Then, the stalker looked straight at Mercedes hiding behind the corner. The stalker took a second to examine Mercedes, her nose stuck in the air in disgust. Almost immediately, Mercedes once again slinked out of sight. The stalker smirked and pounced on Sam. She threw her lips onto his, and to Mercedes's shock, he was kissing back.

Her jaw dropped to the floor and she felt as if she had just been sacked into the stomach. Her head began to spin and she felt the sudden urge to vomit. She wanted to kick herself for being so blind and lovesick. He used her! The supposed guy that thought she was hot had used her like a Kleenex tissue. The stalker was obviously Sam's supposed ex-girlfriend that he claimed was history. The girl was probably following them because she knew Sam was two timing her. He made up the whole New Year's breakup story.

Everything he had said and done was all a lie. He only offered to help her find Rachel because he wanted to get in her pants. She should've listened to herself from the beginning instead of being so easily seduced. Mercedes suddenly felt so insecure about herself. There was no way a guy like him could genuinely like a girl like her. It just didn't work that way. Sam looked way better with the stalker than with her. Her now ex-crush was a chauvinistic asshole. She should've looked right through the smoke and mirrors.

Trying to hold back her forming tears, she stormed towards them. The stalker broke the kiss and gave Mercedes a cheerless smile. Sam immediately turned around. There was lipstick staining his lips. His eyes were wide with bewilderment. He opened his mouth to speak, but Mercedes put her hand up. She didn't want to hear the folly excuse he was going to come up with.

"You used me Sam!" Mercedes cried accusingly. Her voice was cracking and she swallowed the large lump in her throat. This hurt worse than what Shane did to her before the trip. She was destined to be alone. She now wished that she had turned Rachel down and none of this heartbreak would've happened. She was better off not knowing Sam. He was too good to be true. She had just been played.

The stalker shook her head with pseudo sadness. "Yeah he did honey. I'm his girlfriend," she said matter-of-factly. She crossed her hands across her chest. Mercedes wanted to claw the girl's eyes out, but it wasn't her fault. Sam was to blame for everything.

"No she isn't!" Sam pleaded.

Mercedes couldn't believe it. He wasn't backing down from his lie.

"Uh...yeah I am," the stalker retorted.

He turned to her and looked as if he wanted to punch her. "Shut the fuck up Quinn!" he snapped.

They began a screaming match. Sam was telling her that they weren't together while the stalker claimed that they were.

Mercedes didn't know what to believe. She couldn't help but lean towards the stalker, even she spent the whole night terrorizing them. She was dizzy from the screaming and wanted it to stop.

She threw her hands in the air. "I've heard enough!"

She grabbed her jacket from her seat and pushed past them. She looked over her shoulder at Sam and said, "You two are made for each other."

She had gotten herself caught in a twisted relationship with two really weird people. And with that, she left and never looked back.

"Wait!" Sam called, trying to catch up with her.

Mercedes ran out of the diner and disappeared into the night. She could find Rachel and the Slices on her own. She didn't want to see him again.

* * *

Sam's heart shattered as he watched helplessly at his crush leave. He was sure he was never going to see her again. His agony soon turned to anger. He wanted so badly to slap Quinn straight across the face, but practiced self control in not doing so.

Quinn was again trying to crawl back into his life when he was more than ready to forget about her. He was finally over her. She was bringing him down and trying to turn him into something that he wasn't. He was a free spirit and carefree and she wanted him to conform to society. With Mercedes, he was himself. Mercedes accepted him for who he was. She was just what he needed and, because of Quinn's lies, she was gone.

"What the fuck Quinn?!" he hollered. He balled his hands into fists and was beet red from anger. She was sticking true to her promise that he'd pay for breaking up with her, even if that meant ruining his chances with another girl.

Unfazed, Quinn gave him an arrogant smirk and crossed her hands over her chest. "Where'd you get this one from?" was her simple question. She frowned and shuddered at her next reply. "Harlem? the Bronx?"

Sam took an angry step forth and poked her chest with his finger. "She's more beautiful than you'll ever be!"

Quinn let out a fake laugh at his comment. She rolled her hazel eyes with contempt. "Stop lying to yourself Sam and admit the truth. We're meant to be together. We're Barbie and Ken." she paused and pursed her lips, flicking her hair in the process. She was eerily calm and distant.

"That so called girl is a gorilla."

Blinded by rage, he grabbed Quinn by the jacket and pulled her close. He was going to smack her square on the cheek. He was going to break his childhood own rule of not hitting girls. How dare she talk about Mercedes like that?

"You're strong," Quinn whispered huskily with a girlish giggle. She was getting turned on by his masculine bravado and that shocked him. This girl was so crazy. How could he have been with her so long? She was officially a crazy bitch.

Then, the owner of the diner, a bulbous Italian man with a bald head, dashed to Quinn's side and pulled Sam off of her. He pushed Sam so hard that he fell flat on the floor.

"You have some nerve kid," he spat. He looked like he was ready to fuck Sam up. The guy was short, but was at least three hundred pounds and could easily pummel him.

He turned his attention to Quinn. "Are you alright miss?" he asked, his voice suddenly soft and sweet. Quinn gave him an innocent smile as she stared at Sam. She was doing what she did best.

She thanked him and brushed herself off. "I know you want me," she snapped.

The owner gave Sam a look of warning and retreated back to the kitchen. She was still smirking like she had won this little game.

He picked himself up and threw an a hundred dollar bill on his plate. "You're pathetic," he growled, malice dripping in his voice.

Sam shook his head in disbelief. He needed to get away from her. He wanted nothing to do with her. He just wanted to find Mercedes and tell her the real truth. She was probably lost somewhere and there was nothing he could do.

"You'll be back Sam!" was the last thing he heard when he left.

He needed to get away and calm down and he knew the perfect person and thing that could help.


	10. Chapter 10

Hey everyone! Sorry for the biggest delay ever. It's been almost five months since my last update and I know that I left you guys with a huge cliffhanger. I'm finally a high school graduate and I'm going to a great school in New Jersey in September. The story is sadly almost coming to an end. There are only two chapters left. As always, thanks to everyone who has reviewed my story. Your support has been the greatest motivation. Continue to show your support with this chapter. It's not my best chapter, but it's adequate enough. Sorry in advance for any spelling mistakes. Its 2 AM and I'm dead tired!

* * *

Ten

Streets of Broadway

TriBeCa

* * *

Mercedes was officially lost. After leaving her ex-crush Sam at Billy's Delicatessen in an angry huff, she walked aimlessly down Broadway for what seemed like forever. She was surrounded by street lights, throngs of people, and unfamiliar signs for streets that she had never heard of. It was approaching five in the morning and she needed to find Rachel fast, but had no idea where to start. Sam was her tour guide for New York and the key to finding Rachel and being able to go home. Yet now that she was sure she was never going to talk to him again, she was stuck looking for her roommate by herself. She could ask around for directions, but was sure that the majority of people wouldn't even know who the Cosmic Slices were and what the secret show even was. Normal people would look at her as if she were some crazy college girl hocked up on cocaine. And even if someone knew who the Slices were, which would probably be some hipster, they would treat her like some outsider like those hipster twats at Arlene's did. She was sure Mr. Shue would've known that they were gone by now. She already knew that she was in so much trouble and would possibly get expelled if Mr. Shue knew all the gruesome details of her night in New York. She was running out of time and the anxiety was slowly gnawing away at her.

She kept walking straight, afraid of turning down the wrong street and into some dark alley where serial killers and prostitutes lurked in at night. She tried to walk with crowds and walked with pseudo confidence so that people couldn't tell that she was lost, but that proved to be a challenge. Her head was still spinning and she was swallowing her cries and blinking away tears that were stinging the backs of her eyeballs over her painful heartbreak at the hands of Sam. She was destined to be alone. Shane ruined her pristine reputation with lies while Sam took half of her virginity and dropped her like a bad habit within an hour. It kind of felt weird not having Sam pulling her close to keep her warm or lacing his cold fingers through hers. She already missed his corny, crude jokes and his sonorous laugh that made her smile inwardly. She was comfortable around him, although they only met about seven hours prior. She liked him a lot and it felt as if they had known each other for ages. It was just her luck that Sam the Sex God had ruthlessly used her and already had a much more beautiful girl on his arm. Sam's rejection hurt way worse than Shane's blatant lies and that was because she had given him something so precious, half of her virginity.

Mercedes wanted to punch herself at the sight of Sam's supposed girlfriend Quinn the stalker. She was absolutely gorgeous with perfect strawberry blonde hair, hazel eyes, and a supermodel figure that seemed impossible to attain. Mercedes looked like an oversized troll doll with a bad weave and caked makeup compared to her. Sam and Quinn made a better looking couple, although they seemed like they fought constantly. They looked like the All-American couple, almost a ringer for Ken and Barbie.

Without Sam, Mercedes had no clues as to where to find the secret show. He was the one who knew everything about Finn Hudson and the Cosmic Slices; he even went to school with Finn and knew so much about him that he could produce a biopic movie of his life. He was the one with the overactive Facebook newsfeed with abundant clues to spare and she knew that she should've added him earlier that night when she had the chance. It could take her hours, even days before she'd be able to find the show. However, by then, Rachel and the Cosmic Slices would've been long gone. There were thousands of venues and millions of people in New York City and the odds were definitely not in her favor.

There was a part of her that wanted to go back to Billy's and patch things up with Sam just so that he could help her find Rachel. She knew she needed him more than ever. Yet, the headstrong and stubborn part of her refused to crawl back to Sam after what he did to her, even if that meant staying lost in Manhattan for many hours to come.

Mercedes approached a stop light and waited for the light to turn red. She watched absentmindedly as the cars zoomed down Broadway with a few jaywalkers in the middle of the street. Without Sam as her main source for heat, she was freezing in just her thin yellow blazer. She was shifting her weight from foot to foot, not caring that she was creasing the tops of her beloved blue and orange Nikes. The light finally turned red and the cars came to a sudden halt. She was about to cross, when two girls walked right past her from the opposite direction. She wouldn't have noticed them, except they were laughing so obnoxiously loud that Mercedes couldn't help but want to know what was so funny.

Mercedes sneaked a peek at the girls and immediately rolled her eyes. From the way they were dressed in a mix between bohemian and indie, and the fact that they were drinking lattes from Starbucks, they were definitely hipsters.

She grimaced at the sight of their matching geek glasses and brightly colored skinny jeans. They were hipster wannabes, Mercedes was sure of it. They practically screamed it and you could spot it a mile away. Mercedes wasn't a hipster scholar or anything, but she definitely knew that hipsters didn't wear Hot Topic t-shirts advertising popular mainstream bands like All Time Low and Boys Like Girls or bright skinny jeans that looked like a highlighter vomited. She was definitely not going to miss the hipster and wannabe hipster population when she left New York. Thankfully, the hipster trend had yet to reach the state lines of Ohio. She was about to cross the street and get as far away from them as possible, afraid that they would infest her with their hipster disease, when their conversation suddenly peeked her interest.

"Eh ma god! I cannot wait to see Finn Hudson play. He's so hawt!" the girl with the pink skinny jeans cried in her annoying squeaky voice.

Mercedes stopped dead in her tracks and whipped her head around. These girls knew about the Cosmic Slices, which wasn't that much of a surprise, but was music to her ears. They were her ticket out of this mess. She silently prayed that they knew more about their whereabouts than Sam and his friends on Facebook. She began to follow them, careful not to appear obvious.

"I think the bassist is hawt!" her friend retorted, taking a dramatic swig of her coffee.

"Eww! Ashton? You can nawt be serious! He looks like a washed up Mick Jagger!"

"Did you hear about that girl who's been with them all night?"

"That tramp with the atrocious pink heels?"

"Well, I heard that she's playing the tambourine at the show."

"Are they playing now?"

"Yeah and we need to hurry up! I want to hear _Love Lost._"

"Excuse me!" Mercedes squeaked.

The two girls stopped and turned around. They examined Mercedes from head to toe, sticking their noses up at her mainstream style and making sure that Mercedes knew it. Mercedes gritted her teeth with bubbling anger. She wanted to cuss them out, but regained her poise, giving them her best fake smile instead. Even though she was so tired of New Yorkers and their apparent rudeness, these girls were her best lead yet and she had to kiss some ass.

"Yes?" Ms. Pink Jeans asked in a cold voice.

"I like your Doc Martens. I have a pair in white," Mercedes complimented. She mimicked their obnoxious, valley girl laugh.

Ms. Pink Jeans and her friend gave Mercedes cheerless, uninterested grins. They remained mum, blinking at her as if she were an idiot. They didn't even accept her compliment. This was so not working, so Mercedes decided to cut to the chase with her next question.

"Do you know where the Cosmic Slices are?"

The two girls, jaws dropped to the floor, exchanged looks of bewilderment. They were shocked that Mercedes, an obvious mainstream girl, knew of the biggest indie band in the New York underground music scene. They eyed her with suspicion.

"Yeah. Why?" Ms. Pink Jeans asked.

Mercedes wasn't going to tell them that she knew the tramp with the pink heels and that they were actually friends. They would certainly refuse to give her any details if they knew that little tidbit. Sex kittens and groupies and anyone associated with them were treated like outsiders. No one liked a slutty leech that sucked the glory out of a band in hopes of fame.

"I want to see them play. I heard they are awesome," Mercedes said with a confident smile. She wasn't much of an actress like Rachel. Yet to her, acting was just lying your ass off and trying your best to make it believable.

"They're playing at Luke's Candy Bar in Brooklyn," Ms. Pink Jeans replied.

Mercedes's confident grin suddenly faltered. They were playing in Brooklyn, which meant that she was forced to take the wretched and ever so scary subway. It was bad enough taking the train with Sam and the rest of Glee Club, but the thought of taking it by herself made her want to shit her pants. She also had no idea how to navigate the vast subway system and was afraid to get lost and probably end up in the Bronx or the wrong side of Brooklyn, not to mention that complete weirdoes and creeps patrolled the practically empty trains and platforms at night. She was reluctant on asking for directions out of fear of sounding like a complete tourist, but had no choice.

"How do I get there?" Mercedes asked.

The girls grinned mockingly at her naivety. Ms. Pink Jeans raised a pencil thin eyebrow and took a small sip of her drink. Her friend placed a hand over her cracking smirk, her eyes cast to the concrete floor. They both looked like they wanted to burst out laughing. Once again, Mercedes wanted to cuss them out, but held herself back.

Ms. Pink Jeans rolled her eyes and pointed in front of her. She was pointing to the train station across the street. "Take that downtown to Lorimer Street."

"Thanks," Mercedes replied with a polite smile.

"Whatever," Ms. Pink Jeans muttered.

Mercedes clenched her jaw as the two girls turned in unison and walked away. There was no time to tell those twats where to gosh. She needed to find Rachel before the show was over.

She raced across the street towards the train station, but stopped dead in her tracks before descending down the steps. She wanted to hurl at the putrid stench of piss. Her eyes instinctively looked up as if someone taller was standing next to her. It was nothing more than Sam's shadow.

* * *

Puckerman Residence

352 Central Park East

Upper East Side

* * *

"It's nice to see you Mr. Evans," Gregory, the doorman to Puck's building, greeted. He gave Sam a warm, polite smile as Sam trotted through the door of Puck's swanky apartment building.

Gregory was an older Englishman with graying hair and large wire-rimmed spectacles. He'd been working at the building all throughout Sam and Puck's childhood. The boys thought that Gregory was the coolest because he had an official James Bond accent and covered for them whenever they did something stupid. Puck was positive that the word of his big New Year's bash would never reach his parents, thanks to Gregory the doorman. Mr. and Mrs. Puckerman were still in Tel Aviv for the winter holiday and weren't due back until that Friday.

"Hey Big G. Is Puck in?" a sullen faced Sam asked.

Sam, pink from the blistering cold and from the onslaught of tears forming in his eyes, had nowhere else to turn. He tried canvasing the area around Billy's Delicatessen in search for his crush. To his sheer horror, there were at least three different train stations in the area and dozens of people walking around. She could've easily taken one of them in an attempt to escape the madness that his crazy bitch of an ex-girlfriend started. Mercedes was nowhere to be found and there was nothing he could do about it. She was going to try to find the secret show on her own, even though the city was a whole big secret to her. He tried blowing her phone up with incessant texts and calls, but her phone was turned off. He just needed to tell her that this was all just a big misunderstanding.

Unable to do anything more, he took a cab back to his home turf to seek guidance and a little comfort from his best friend, but the comfort part was kind of stretching it. The only consolation was that he could get high before school as a way to try to forget that his epic night out with Mercedes ever happened. Earlier that night, Puck bragged that he had gotten the best pot to ever enter New York from their drug dealer in Tompkins Square. He couldn't stop talking about how expensive it was and that it was grown and cultivated in the mountains of some remote Peruvian village. He promised that the pot had mystical powers with a high that was so strong you'd want to be high all the time. They were supposed to attempt to pick up easy girls at Arlene's and then smoke the pot at Puck's, but that's when Mercedes walked into Sam's life and his quality bro time with Puck immediately took a backseat.

"I believe so Mr. Evans. You can go up and check," Gregory replied matter-of-factly.

"Thanks Big G," he said with a meek smile.

Sam walked into the private elevator, staring absentmindedly at the carpeted floor as the elevator ascended. He quickly wiped away stray tears with the sleeve of his hoodie. He wasn't a crier at all, but the whole thing with Mercedes hurt really badly. It was like being punched in the stomach and wanting to vomit, but not being able to. He tried his best to regain his composure. He didn't want his very judgmental best friend to see him crying. Puck would literally laugh in his face for acting like such a girl.

The elevator finally stopped moving and the doors drew open. Sam ventured out of the elevator and it clicked behind him. The penthouse reeked of marijuana and booze. The large drapes that covered the wall-to-ceiling windows in the living room were closed, giving the penthouse a dark, eerie atmosphere. The only light came from the muted eighty inch plasma TV, which spilled artificial white light onto the carpet. He saw a large ball on the leather couch covered in a satin comforter. There was a bong on the glass coffee table with a small bottle of cheap Russian vodka beside it.

The blond thought that Puck was fast asleep. After all, he hadn't slept since his New Year's bash because he had really chronic insomnia. Puck could go days without sleeping, despite his pot habit. He once even tried ordering marijuana laced sleeping pills from the internet in hopes of being able to have a good night's sleep. Without warning, the ball moved slowly under the comforter and there was a gruff, disgruntled groan. Puck's head emerged from under the blanket. He was wearing large black sunglasses that were sliding down his pointed nose.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Puck demanded in a deep raspy voice.

He let out a violent, smoker's cough and pounded his chest to ease the pain. He had probably hit the bong way too hard last night. There was a part of Sam that wished he had gone with Puck instead of helping Mercedes find the secret show. It sucked that he thought that, but now he felt worse than he did earlier that night. Believe it or not, he was more heartbroken at losing Mercedes than breaking up with his longtime girlfriend Quinn.

"Where's Miss DSL?" he added staring intently at Sam.

He grabbed a cigarette that was tucked inconspicuously behind his ear and placed it between his lips. He grabbed a lighter from his pocket and lit it. The blond casted his eyes to the floor, studying the dirty white carpet under his feet. He didn't know how to tell Puck about the shitty time he'd been having for the past hour. He was sure that his best friend would laugh in his face for being pussy whipped by some girl he just met. Puck wouldn't understand. He was completely immune to feelings and emotions associated with the opposite sex.

"She's gone."

"Did you fuck her?"

When Sam didn't answer and turned a bright red, Puck's lips curled into a smug grin. He cackled in the obnoxious _I'm such as asshole _laugh that Sam found super annoying. He took a fervent drag of his cig and continued to laugh.

"Right on Sammy boy!" Puck cried. He wriggled out of the heavy blanket and threw it carelessly to the floor. He was still clad in the clothes that he wore to Arlene's.

He yawned loudly and took off his sunglasses. His eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot. He grabbed the uncapped vodka and took a hearty swig, wiping the little droplets that ran down his chin with the back of his hand. Puck's willpower was amazing. After a night of binge drinking and smoking solo, he still had room for a little more.

"Did she suck your dick?"

Sam's face immediately contorted with disgust and gave Puck a death glare. Sure, he loved a good blow job, but he couldn't even fathom the idea of Mercedes doing something like that, not now. Unbeknownst to Puck, Mercedes meant much more to him than that. He could truly see himself falling really hard for this girl, even though that was something that only happened in chick flicks. He wanted to hold her hand and show her off to the world. He wanted to hold her close and hear her girlish laugh that made him smile like a lovesick idiot. He didn't know what love at first sight looked or felt like, but his night with Mercedes seemed like it. Even though Puck was his best friend since diapers, there was no way Sam was going to let him objectify Mercedes that way.

"Dude. She's more than that!"

Puck furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and cocked his head to the side with bewilderment. He looked at the blond was if he was the biggest idiot in the world. The last time Puck heard of her, she was just going to be Sam's sexcercism girl who would use her amazing pair of DSL for good. To him, Sam was talking crazy talk.

"What the fuck has gotten into you?" Puck demanded, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. From the look of disbelief etched on his face, Puck knew where this was going and he didn't like it one bit.

Puck wasn't a believer in love, not ever since he got his heart handed to him in a million and one pieces by Lauren Zizes. He was a merciless _hit it and quit it _type of guy. He repeatedly told Sam, which was every chance he could get, that he didn't have time for relationships and all the feelings that came with it. He only cared about taking a girl to bed and finding the most amusing way to accomplish his goal.

When Sam didn't say anything, Puck edged off his seat and said, "You like her. Don't you Evans?"

Sam couldn't hide it, even if he wanted to. He was practically turning a crimson red at Puck's accusation and had this lovesick expression on his face that made it completely obvious.

He had fallen hard for Mercedes.

He tried to open his mouth and form the right words to explain his unexpected feelings for her. Yet, he couldn't find any words that were worthy enough to describe how amazing she was. Everything about her made his heart skip a few beats. He was smitten by her and wanted to claim her as his own.

Puck threw his hands angrily in the air, still holding the cig between his fingers. "Do I have to school you bro? The whole point of a sexcercism is to get laid and never see the girl again!"

"I know, but I ended up liking her."

"I'm saying this out of love, but you have no balls Evans."

Puck was very blunt with his statements and lacked filters that existed in most normal human beings. He liked to say that he was saying things out of love, but he was just really being a jerk. Yes, he liked this girl a lot even though they just met, but his balls were huge.

"You better watch it Puckerman."

Unfazed by his empty threat, Puck gave him a triumphant smirk. He wasn't backing down. "If she's so great, where is she?" he asked.

The color drained from Sam's pink face. He had no comeback and was practically choking on his words. He wanted to cry, but clenched his jaw as tight as he could to force himself not to do so. There was no way he could tell Puck without getting laughed at. He closed his eyes and swallowed a large lump forming in the pit of his throat. He began to unfold the story to Puck with every gruesome detail in between. When he spoke of Quinn, his hands instinctively balled into fists as if he were ready to punch someone's lights out.

Throughout the story, Puck's smug smirk faltered and turned into a frown. There wasn't an ounce of amusement in his expression. He stopped smoking his cig and placed it in the ashtray on the coffee table. When Sam was done, half expecting Puck to shrug his shoulders, his jaw dropped to the floor. There was this unfamiliar expression plastered on his best friend's face. It was sympathy. Puck actually cared about his issue.

"Damn Evans. That Quinn is a bitch," Puck muttered.

"You actually care?"

Puck remained silent, refusing to answer. He was so macho that he probably thought it was uncool to care about another guy's feelings. Puck was a self-proclaimed badass and a true badass was an unsympathetic asshole.

"Nah man."

"C'mon dude. You care."

Puck shot Sam a look of warning, daring the blond to state the obvious. They both knew the truth, but Puck didn't want it to be verbalized. It would ruin his badass status, which was kind of ridiculous.

"Do you want my help or not Evans?"

"Yeah."

"Never tried this myself, but I have a master plan."


End file.
